(s. 


KONIGSKINDER 

[THE     ROYAL     CHILDREN] 


A  FAIRY  TALE  FOUNDED  ON  THE  FAIRY 
OPERA  OF  "KONIGSKINDER"  FOR  WHICH 
ENGELBERT  HUMPERDINCK  WROTE  THE 
MUSIC,  AND  ERNST  ROSMER  THE  WORDS 


TOLD  FOR  CHILDREN 

BY 

ANNA   ALICE    CHAPIN 


AUTHOR   OF 
"WONDER  TALES  FROM  WAGNER" 


ILLUSTRATED    FROM   PHOTOGRAPHS 
OF   SCENES    IN   THE   OPERA 


HARPER  6-  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
M  C  M  X  I 


NOT.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


PRINTED   IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AMERICA 
PUBLISHED    OCTOBER.    1911 


TO 

DOCTOR   ENGELBERT  HUMPERDINCK 

THE     MASTER    OF     FAIRY    TALES     IN      MUSIC 

THIS     BOOK    IS    DEDICATED 


2126127 


v<^u/t-  C&t-&>*sC**   "  &-^sb&*^  , 

£L/  gr^  LJZJ 

1  C-/t*x*T^^2—         £^t^v\  MM  Ls<~          Tr-L^L,^+^*li*+**     i 

•A-y    y    ^y  v     / 


/*^-Zt-»>fcv-^ 


[TRANSLATION] 

GRUNEWALD 

11/17/2 
HONOURED  MADAM: — 

Many  thanks  for  your  friendly 

letter  in  regard  to  the  children's  stories.  I  shall 
be  very  glad  to  see  them,  and  I  accept  your  dedi- 
cation with  the  greatest  pleasure. 

With  highest  consideration, 

ENGELBERT  HUMPERDINCK 


CONTENTS 


PART    I 
THE   WITCH'S  HUT 

CHAP.  PAGE 

FIRST  OP  ALL xiii 

I.  THE  GOOSE  GIRL 3 

II.  THE  KING'S  SON 16 

III.  THE  WITCH'S  BAKING-DAY 28 

IV.  THE  WREATH  AND  THE  CROWN     ....  43 

V.  THE  SPELL 61 

VI.  THE  MORTALS  IN  THE  WOOD 76 

VII.  THE  WITCH'S  PROPHECY 89 

VIII.  THE  GOOSE  GIRL'S  STAR 102 


PART   II 
THE  TOWN   OF   HELLABRUNN 

IX.  THE  INN  AT  THE  CITY  GATE 121 

X.  THE  INNKEEPER'S  DAUGHTER 134 

XI.  "A  SWINEHERD!" 152 

XII.  THE  KING'S  DAY 166 

XIII.  HELLABRUNN  AND  THE  KING'S  SON       .     .  182 

XIV.  THE  STROKE  OP  TWELVE 197 


Contents 


PART    III 
THE   FOREST 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XV.  THE  SORROWS  OF  THE  FIDDLER    .     .     .     .  215 

XVI.  WINTER  AT  THE  WITCH'S  HUT      ....  229 

XVII.  THE  ROYAL  BEGGARS 243 

XVIII.  THE  CROWN  AND  THE  CAKE 257 

XIX.  THE  FIDDLER'S  LAST  SONG  268 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE   LITTLE  GOOSE   GIRL  GATHERED   HER  FLOCK 

ABOUT    HER Frontispiece 

"l     WISH THAT    I HAD    A    SILVER    SPINDLE !"  Facing  p.     30 

THE  WITCH  DROPPED  HER  STICK,  FROWNING  74 
SHE  KNELT  AND  LIFTED  HER  FACE  TO  THE  SKY, 

HOLDING  THE  CROWN  IN  HER  TWO  HANDS  114 

SHE  WENT  STRAIGHT  TO  THE  KING'S  SON  .  .  "  2OO 
THE  LITTLE  GOOSE  GIRL  LAUGHED  BRAVELY, 

BRUSHING  THE  SNOW  FROM  HER  EYES  .  "  252 

"  MY  LAST  ROYAL  ACT  IS TO  BREAK  MY  CROWN 

IN  PIECES!" "  258 

THEY  SLEPT,  WRAPPED  IN  THEIR  MAGIC  DREAM  "  268 


FIRST  OF  ALL 

"THE  ROYAL  CHILDREN"  is  a  Fairy  Tale  in 
music.  The  Witch  and  the  Goose  Girl,  the 
King's  Son  and  the  Fiddler,  are  beings  belong- 
ing not  only  to  an  enchanted  universe,  but  to 
a  world  of  music.  When  you  go  to  see  the 
opera  called  "  Konigskinder  "  (Royal  Children) 
you  will  see  this  story  happen  before  your  eyes 
just  as  I  have  told  it,  only  it  will  be  more  lovely 
and  thrilling  than  anything  that  I  could  ever 
tell. 

And  all  the  tale,  in  that  most  wonderful  of 
Fairy  Operas,  is  accompanied  by  music — buoy- 
ant, noble  music  when  the  King's  Son  comes  to 
the  clearing;  tender,  wistful  music  when  the 
Goose  Girl  dreams  under  the  linden-tree ;  pretty, 
childish  music  when  the  Broom-maker's  chil- 
dren dance  and  play;  solemn,  beautiful  music 


xii  First  of  All 

when  the  Fiddler  sings  above  the  Royal 
Children. 

So,  when  you  read  this  story  you  must  pre- 
tend that  you  are  hearing  sweet  melodies  and 
perfect  chords — whatever  music  your  imagina- 
tion tells  you  would  fit  it  best.  But  when  you 
hear  the  real  airs  and  the  real  harmonies  you 
will  find  it  all  a  thousand  times  more  exquisite 
than  your  fancy. 

So  please  open  the  ears  of  your  hearts,  as  they 
used  to  say  in  the  days  when  folk  like  the  Fid- 
dler made  songs,  and  dream  that  you  are  listen- 
ing to  the  gayest,  saddest,  gentlest,  and  most 
melodious  music  that  ever  carried  Mortal  people 
to  an  Enchanted  Forest. 


' .  .  .  And  when  I  have  sung  my  parting  lay, 
I'll  fling  away  my  fiddle  for  aye, 

To  lie  where  the  kingly  children  are  laid. 
Ye  all,  like  a  human  organ  swelling, 
Shall  spread  the  tale  I'm  singing  and  telling, 
The  song  that  the  old,  old  Fiddler  has  made.  .  .  , 

— The  Fiddler's  Last  Song. 
(Trans,  by  Charles  Henry  Meltzer.) 


KONIGSKINDER 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    GOOSE    GIRL 

THIS    IS    THE    LITTLE    GOOSE    GIRL    LOOKING    INTO    THE 
SPRING 

A 


AND    THIS    IS    HER    REFLECTION    IN    THE    WATER 

-*• »   m    i- r 


ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  Witch  in  a 
little  hut  in  the  very  center  of  an  enchanted 
forest.  The  forest  was  very  big  and  wild,  and 
it  grew  all  over  a  great  rocky  mountainside. 
And  beyond  the  mountains  might  be  almost 


4  Konigskinder 

anything,  hut  nobody  ever  tried  to  cross  the 
range. 

Far  down  in  the  valley  was  a  big,  comfortable 
town,  called  Hcllabrunn,  filled  with  cheerful 
burghers  and  pretty  children,  but  they  never 
climbed  the  hillside.  They  were  afraid  of  the 
Enchanted  Forest,  for  they  knew  that  it  was  full 
of  every  kind  of  savage  beast  and  ghostly  goblin, 
but  most  of  all  they  were  afraid  of  the  Witch. 

They  had  good  reason  to  be,  for  she  was  a 
very  remarkable  Witch,  even  in  those  days  when 
Witches  were  quite  common.  She  had  taken  a 
thorough  course  in  Magic,  and  there  was  really 
nothing  she  did  not  know  concerning  spells,  and 
charms,  and  secret  potions,  and  mysterious 
things  of  that  sort. 

If  you  have  never  been  in  an  Enchanted  Forest 
you  have  no  idea  what  a  frightening  place  it  can 
be.  Of  course  the  trees  and  stones  are  alive, 
as  they  were  in  the  Black  Forest,  where  Hansel 
and  Gretel  got  lost.  But  they  are  more  than 
alive — they  are  powerful!  They  understand 
things,  and  can  overhear  secrets.  If  the  Forest 
wishes  to  annoy  a  person  it  can  twine  brambles 


The   Goose   Girl  5 

across  his  path,  and  hoot  in  his  ears,  and  terrify 
him  till  he  nearly  loses  his  wits.  In  an  En- 
chanted Wood  the  big  trees  move  about. 
Every  single  night  they  change  places  with  one 
another,  and  so  it  is  quite  impossible  for  a 
mortal  to  know  where  he  is. 

And  every  kind  of  Fairy  creature  (except  the 
Sea  People)  are  to  be  found  in  a  truly  Magical 
Wood — Elves  and  Giants  and  Goblins  and 
Gnomes  and  Dwarfs  and  Pixies  and  Flower 
Fairies  and  Kobolds  and  Dragons  and  Trolls 
and  Kelpies  and  Brook  Elves  and  Moon  Sprites 
and  Mist  Maidens  and  Little  People  in  Green 
and  Ghosts  and  Dream  Folk  and  Griffins  and 
Ogres  and  Water  Babies  and  Fairy  Beasts  and 
Enchanted  Princesses  and  Mother  Goose  chil- 
dren and  Were  Wolves  and  Wizards  and  Sor- 
ceresses, and  at  least  a  million  other  kinds  of 
Make-Believe  Beings  which  we  don't  know  any- 
thing about. 

At  the  edge  of  the  Enchanted  Wood  there  was 
a  huge  black  Marsh,  and  the  Witch  used  to  go 
down  to  it  and  gather  the  queer  toadstools  of 
different  colors  which  grew  there  in  the  mud. 


6  Konigskinder 

And  she  would  climb  the  crags  above  her  cot- 
tage in  search  of  strange  wild  herbs,  and  she 
would  dig  for  aromatic  roots  in  the  darkest, 
creepiest  parts  of  the  dark,  creepy  Forest.  She 
often  went  hunting,  too,  for  lizards,  and  snakes, 
and  toads,  and  bats. 

Just  before  moonrise — for  that  is  the  time 
that  Witches  like  best  to  be  abroad — she  would 
get  a  big  basket  with  a  lid  and  strap  it  upon 
her  crooked  old  back,  and  then  she  would  take 
a  heavy,  twisted  stick  to  lean  on,  and  hobble 
away  into  the  darkness,  muttering  to  herself. 
Before  the  dawn  broke  she  would  come  home 
chuckling,  with  her  basket  full  and  overflowing, 
and  then  she  would  set  to  work  making  magical 
liquids  and  deadly  powders  out  of  the  weeds 
and  simples  she  had  brought  back. 

Sometimes  she  would  go  off  on  her  broom- 
stick, too,  and  there  is  no  telling  what  manner 
of  dark  witchcraft  she  was  about  on  those 
occasions! 

The  people  of  Hellabrunn  Town  had  a  great 
respect  for  her  mysterious  powers.  Many  of 
them  traded  with  her  secretly,  for  the  wisest 


The  Goose  Girl  7 

of  mortals  did  not  know  as  much  about  drugs 
and  nostrums  as  she,  and  when  she  went 
stealthily  down  to  the  city  to  sell  her  wares, 
she  found  plenty  of  people  ready  to  give  her 
gold-pieces  in  exchange  for  remedies  and 
counsel. 

Hellabrunn  was  a  prosperous  town  full  of 
rich  people.  Many  a  good  burgher  was  glad 
to  pay  a  high  price  for  a  draught  which 
would  cure  his  sick  child.  Then,  too,  there 
were  many  wicked  persons  ready  to  purchase 
poisons,  and  young  folk  eager  for  love-potions. 
So  the  Witch  did  a  thriving  business,  and  went 
often  among  mortals. 

She  hated  everything  human,  and  was  always 
glad  to  do  any  one  an  ill-turn,  but  she  loved 
gold.  Time  on  time  she  toiled  down  into  the 
valley  with  her  heavy  basket,  to  come  back 
with  a  purseful  of  clinking  coins.  She  did  not 
spend  the  money,  but  she  liked  to  keep  it  and 
count  it,  and  hide  it  away  in  unlikely  corners 
of  her  miserable  little  hut.  Most  of  it  she  buried 
deep  down  where  only  the  moles  and  earth- 
worms could  find  it. 


8  Konigskinder 

She  was  not  an  extravagant  person.  The 
only  things  she  bought  were  kettles  and  mor- 
tars for  her  magic  cookery.  So  far  as  her  diet 
was  concerned,  she  lived  chiefly  on  purple 
snails,  and  wild  cabbage,  and  deadly  night- 
shade, and  poison-ivy,  and  delicacies  of  that 
sort. 

And  down  in  Hellabrunn  Town  her  name 
was  only  spoken  in  whispers.  They  were  afraid 
to  call  her  the  Witch;  they  used  to  say  "The 
Wise  Woman,"  and  "The  Lady  in  the  Wood," 
and  "Our  Honored  Neighbor,"  for  they  never 
could  tell  when  she  might  be  listening  at  the 
window  or  in  the  chimney.  For  all  they  knew, 
she  might  at  any  moment  come  whisking  down 
on  her  broom-stick  and  turn  them  all  into  rats 
or  hedgehogs! 

Now,  perhaps,  you  may  have  thought,  from 
what  you  have  been  hearing  about  the  Witch 
in  the  Wood,  that  she  lived  there  alone.  In- 
deed, she  did  nothing  of  the  kind! 

First,  there  was  the  Yellow  Tom  Cat,  a 
splendid  and  savage  animal  with  wild,  green 
eyes — a  real  Witch  Cat.  He  used  to  sit  on  the 


The  Goose  Girl  9 

tumble-down  roof  of  the  hut,  close  up  against 
the  crooked  chimney  where  it  was  warm,  and 
glare  at  the  sky  and  growl  to  himself.  Some- 
times he  accompanied  the  Witch  when  she  went 
hunting.  They  were  great  friends,  and  he 
knew  nearly  as  much  as  she  did.  Cats  do  under- 
stand a  great  deal  of  witchcraft,  you  know, 
even  common,  every-day  cats. 

Then  there  was  the  Raven.  The  long  feath- 
ers on  his  wings  had  been  clipped  short  to  keep 
him  from  flying  away,  and  he  used  to  perch 
on  the  ridge-pole  and  croak.  And  when  he 
was  excited  he  would  dance  back  and  forth 
from  one  end  of  the  roof  to  the  other.  He  did 
not  like  the  Tom  Cat  much — I  do  not  believe 
that  he  even  liked  the  Witch.  He  was  an  ex- 
ceedingly horrid  bird  in  every  way.  And  he 
was  very  unkind  to  the  Little  Gray  Doves. 

There  were  a  number  of  Doves  in  the  clear- 
ing. The  Witch  did  not  care  for  them.  They 
were  far  too  gentle  and  pretty  to  please  her, 
but  they  fluttered  about  the  hut  just  the  same, 
and  made  nests  in  the  linden-tree,  and  cooed 
softly  together  every  evening.  Once  in  a  while 


io  Konigskinder 

they  flew  down  to  the  valley  to  carry  messages 
from  the  Wild  Birds  to  the  gossipy  little  city 
Sparrows. 

Then  there  were  the  Geese.  The  Witch  kept 
a  large  flock  of  them — she  sold  their  eggs  to  the 
townspeople.  She  always  said  that  they  were 
magic  eggs,  so  that  they  would  bring  extra  high 
prices.  Of  course  the  Geese  were  fairy  Geese, 
or  at  least  partly  fairy,  anyway;  but  I  doubt 
if  their  eggs  tasted  very  differently  from  the 
usual  kind.  They  were  very  beautiful,  fat, 
white  Geese,  all  except  the  oldest  and  wisest, 
who  was  gray  and  scraggly,  but  they  were 
stupid;  even  fairy  Geese  have  to  be  stupid. 
They  were  rather  obstinate,  too,  and  they  had 
not  good  judgment. 

And  last — but  oh,  very  far  from  least! — was 
the  little  maid  who  took  care  of  the  Geese  and 
did  the  Witch's  housework.  She  had  never 
had  any  regular  name;  she  was  just  the  Goose 
Girl. 

She  had  lived  with  the  Witch  all  her  life,  and 
called  her  Grandmother.  Of  course,  she  was 
really  no  relation.  She  had  just  been  a  poor 


The  Goose  Girl  1 1 

little  waif  whom  nobody  wanted,  and  the  old 
dame  had  brought  her  up  to  wait  upon  her  and 
help  her  in  her  Black  Arts.  She  had  tried  to 
train  her  to  be  a  true  Witch  Child,  and  in  time 
she  intended  to  teach  her  to  ride  a  broom-stick. 
But  the  Goose  Girl  was  a  very  bad  pupil,  for 
she  never  learned  to  like  witchcraft.  She  loved 
the  Geese  and  the  Little  Gray  Doves,  and  she 
loved  the  woods,  and  the  linden-tree,  and  the 
tiny  garden  which  the  Witch  had  allowed  her 
to  have.  And  she  was  a  good  girl,  and  did  her 
best  to  please  her  mistress.  But  she  never  could 
be  friends  with  the  Yellow  Tom  Cat  or  the  Ra- 
ven, fond  as  she  was  of  animals,  and  she  was  too 
afraid  of  the  dark  to  go  hunting  with  the  Witch. 
That  horrid  old  person  used  to  make  her  boil 
weird  mixtures  in  her  great  caldron  and  grind 
poisons  in  the  mortar,  and  the  little  girl  had 
to  learn  many  spells  and  charms  by  heart  every 
day.  But  it  was  no  use.  She  hated  the  night, 
and  she  loved  the  sunlight — the  beautiful, 
golden  sunlight,  which  made  the  Witch  blink 
her  wicked  old  eyes.  The  Goose  Girl  was  no 
true  Witch  Child,  and  never  would  be. 


1 2  Konigskinder 

If  you  will  look  at  the  picture  of  the  prettiest 
Princess  in  your  favorite  Fairy  Book,  you  can 
see  what  the  Goose  Girl  looked  like.  She  was 
fourteen  years  old  when  this  story  begins,  but 
she  still  dressed  like  quite  a  little  girl.  Indeed, 
the  poor  child  had  only  one  dress,  and  she  had 
quite  outgrown  that.  It  was  a  shabby,  ragged 
frock  of  gray  homespun.  She  had  made  it  all 
herself,  and  often  wished  that  she  might  have 
some  pretty  ribbons  to  wear  with  it.  But  the 
Witch  did  not  believe  in  dressing  up  her  hand- 
maiden. The  old  creature  herself  had  worn 
the  same  gown  (a  dusty,  musty,  rusty,  horrible 
thing)  for  at  least  a  hundred  years,  and  had  no 
idea  of  buying  another.  So  why  should  she 
waste  money  on  finery  for  the  Goose  Girl  ? 

The  little  maiden  usually  went  barefoot, 
but  sometimes  she  wore  a  pair  of  very  worn 
slippers,  queerly  cut,  like  the  ones  in  old- 
fashioned  pictures.  And  she  had  one  treasure, 
a  scarlet  kerchief!  It  was  a  lovely  color,  al- 
though she  washed  it  so  often  that  it  was  a 
little  faded.  The  Witch  made  her  wear  it  to 
hide  her  beautiful  hair,  and  oh,  how  glad 


The   Goose   Girl  i  3 

the   Goose   Girl   was   that   it   happened  to   be 
red! 

She  had  the  loveliest  hair  in  all  the  world— 
long  and  soft,  and  the  color  of  bright  gold. 
When  she  took  off  her  kerchief  it  fell  about  her 
like  a  glittering  veil,  and  nearly  reached  her 
knees.  And  her  eyes  were  blue,  and  her  skin 
was  pink  and  white,  like  the  Mayflowers.  Alto- 
gether she  looked  like  the  most  perfect  little 
Princess  that  you  can  imagine,  and  was  far, 
far  too  pretty  and  sweet  to  be  nothing  but  a 
Goose  Girl. 

Of  course  she  had  no  mirror,  but  sometimes 
she  saw  herself  in  the  little  clear  pool  below 
the  spring,  and  she  could  not  help  thinking 
that  what  she  saw  was  pretty. 

There  was  a  stone  basin,  with  a  wooden 
trough  to  make  it  easy  to  draw  the  spring- 
water,  and  she  used  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  the 
basin,  and  look  at  her  reflection,  and  wonder 
if  mortal  people  would  think  her  really  and 
truly  nice  to  look  at. 

You  see,  she  had  never  seen  another  mortal 
in  all  her  life,  and  she  was  curious  about  them. 


14  Konigskinder 

She  thought  she  was  the  Witch's  granddaughter, 
and  an  outcast  from  human  beings,  and  so  she 
never  dared  to  go  down  into  the  valley  wrhere 
the  men  and  women  lived.  But  she  used  to 
make  up  all  manner  of  fancies  about  them,  and 
she  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she  need  not 
spend  her  whole  life  in  the  Enchanted  Forest. 
And  she  used  to  ask  herself  why  she  looked  so 
very  different  from  her  Grandmother. 

She  sounds  a  little  vain,  but  she  really  was 
not.  The  only  amusement  that  she  had  was 
dreaming  day-dreams,  and  she  never  dreamed 
so  nicely  as  when  the  Witch  was  away  and  she 
was  sitting  on  the  moss-covered  stones  gazing 
into  the  water. 

She  had  never  seen  beautiful  clothes,  nor 
even  heard  of  them,  but  she  knew  that  the  hu- 
man beings  in  the  valley  could  not  all  be  dressed 
in  things  as  ugly  as  hers.  So  she  would  pretend 
that  she  was  dressed  in  robes  as  soft  and  bright- 
ly colored  as  the  wings  of  the  butterflies  and 
the  flowers  in  the  Wood. 

One  day  she  made  herself  a  wreath  of  leaves 
and  blossoms  and  put  it  on  her  head. 


The  Goose  Girl  1 5 

When  she  looked  in  the  spring  then  she 
seemed  to  have  a  different  air — more  grown-up 
and  important,  she  thought. 

She  looked  for  a  long  time,  puzzling,  for  her 
reflection  seemed  to  be  saying  something  to  her. 
She  did  not  know  what  the  message  was,  but 
it  was  something  odd  and  new. 

And  her  Geese — who  were  very  wise  birds- 
said  to  one  another:  "There  is  no  doubt  about 
it.  She  was  born  to  wear  a  Crown!" 


THE     SONG     THE     GOOSE     GIRL     HUMMED     UNDER     THE 
LINDEN  -TREE 


I    wish  that    I      had  a    sil  -  ver  spin-  die!" 


CHAPTER   II 
THE  KING'S  SON 


SOME    MUSIC     FOR     KINGS    AXD    QUEEN'S 


NOBODY  in  Hellabrunn  knew  what  might  lie 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  range.  Even 
the  Witch  did  not  know.  The  chain  of  crags 
ran  jaggedly  across  the  sky  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see  in  both  directions,  and  they  were 
higher,  and  steeper,  and  more  threatening  than 
any  hills  that  you  or  I  have  ever  seen. 

There  were  terrible  ravines  and  abysses  and 
roaring  rivers  and  cataracts.  In  some  places 
the  rocks  went  straight  up  for  hundreds  of  feet, 
like  the  wall  of  a  Giant's  house,  and  there  was 


The   King's    Son  17 

no  sign  of  a  trail  at  any  point,  for  neither 
travelers  nor  hunters  ever  tried  to  explore  the 
Wonderful  Mountains. 

Some  ignorant  persons  believed  that  the 
Mountain  chain  was  the  end  of  the  world,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  at  all  beyond  it.  But 
there  was  something — something  even  more 
wonderful  than  the  hills  themselves.  It  was 
a  Kingdom,  and  it  was  the  only  absolutely  per- 
fect Kingdom  on  earth. 

There  the  sky  was  always  blue  and  the  wind 
always  warm  and  soft.  There  the  meadows 
were  bright  with  flowers  and  sun,  and  the  forests 
sweet  with  moss  and  shade.  There  the  brooks 
were  full  of  silver-fish,  and  the  woods  were  full 
of  deer  and  brilliant  birds.  The  people  were 
all  contented.  No  one  was  ill,  no  one  was  sad, 
no  one  was  poor.  The  men  sang  in  the  fields, 
and  the  women  sang  in  the  houses,  and  the 
children  sang  at  play.  And  the  wisest  and 
kindest  King  in  the  world  ruled  over  them. 

We  do  not  know  the  name  of  that  happy 
and  lovely  country,  for  it  has  never  been 
marked  down  on  any  map,  nor  mentioned  in 


1 8  Konigskinder 

any  history  books.  So  we  shall  have  to  call 
it  the  Contented  Kingdom. 

Now  in  the  whole  Contented  Kingdom  there 
was  only  one  soul  that  was  not  perfectly  happy. 
And  you  will  never  guess  whose  that  was,  for 
it  was  the  most  unlikely  person  imaginable. 
It  was  the  King's  son — the  fortunate  young 
Prince  of  the  realm! 

Just  think!  In  that  golden,  peaceful,  flow- 
ery land,  which  was  his  very  own;  with  every- 
thing on  earth  that  any  one  could  wish  for; 
cared  for  by  a  loving  father  and  mother,  and 
by  servants  and  subjects  almost  as  loving,  this 
foolish  lad  was  discontented. 

He  was  a  very  nice  boy,  you  must  know,  and 
not  of  a  fault-finding,  disagreeable  disposition; 
but  he  was  just  a  trifle  spoiled.  He  had  really 
had  too  much  good  fortune — too  many  play- 
things and  sweets  while  he  was  a  little  fellow, 
and  too  much  attention  and  devotion  when  he 
began  to  grow  bigger. 

As  a  tiny  baby  he  slept  in  a  beautiful  cradle 
made  of  solid  gold,  and  his  rattle  was  set  with 
rubies  and  diamonds  and  other  precious  stones. 


The  King's   Son  19 

When  he  began  to  walk  he  had  silver  toys,  made 
by  the  master-workmen  of  the  country — me- 
chanical toys  which  might  just  as  well  have 
been  alive,  they  went  so  splendidly,  and  other 
things  fashioned  only  to  look  at,  more  exquisite 
than  anything  in  any  shop. 

His  doublet  and  smock  and  hose  and  cap  and 
shoes  were  always  made  of  the  richest  silks 
and  velvets,  and  sewn  with  gold  thread.  The 
old  women  in  the  Kingdom  used  to  spin  the 
thread  out  of  great  lumps  of  gold,  and  send 
it  to  the  Palace  in  basket-loads,  to  be  used 
just  to  embroider  the  clothes  of  the  little 
Prince. 

When  he  grew  old  enough  for  sports  he  had 
a  snow-white  pony  with  silver  shoes  and  a 
bridle  studded  with  sapphires.  His  saddle  was 
of  gold,  and  the  feather  in  his  riding-cap  was 
a  long,  white  plume. 

He  had  splendid  falcons  and  dogs  for  pets, 
and  the  most  beautiful  crossbow  and  arrows  in 
the  world. 

He  had  lessons  every  day,  like  other  boys, 
but  they  were  made  as  interesting  to  him  as 


2O  Konigskinder 

possible,  and  his  tutors  were  the  most  learned 
men  in  the  Kingdom.  And  they  always 
praised  him,  and  listened  to  what  he  said 
respectfully. 

He  was  a  bright  boy — not  so  bright  as  every 
one  believed  him,  but  bright  enough  to  get 
very  tired  of  being  told  how  wonderful  he  was 
all  day.  He  was  so  well  taken  care  of  that  he 
was  bored,  and  he  wanted  with  all  his  soul  to 
get  away  from  his  masters  and  the  courtiers, 
and  be  just  like  any  ordinary  boy  for  a  little 
while. 

He  used  to  ride  soberly  and  properly  along 
on  his  silver-shod  pony,  followed  by  his  devoted 
retainers,  and  often  he  would  wish  that  he 
dared  jump  one  of  the  flowering  hedges  and 
gallop  off  into  the  wild  woods  all  by  himself 
in  search  of  adventures. 

Sometimes  he  would  gaze  at  the  Wonderful 
Mountains,  so  high  and  dark  against  the  bright- 
blue  sky,  and  he  would  wonder  and  wonder 
what  was  on  the  other  side  of  them.  Of  course 
he  had  never  heard  of  Hellabrunn  nor  the  En- 
chanted Forest.  But  you  see,  just  as  the  peo- 


The  King's   Son  21 

pie  of  the  Hellabrunn  Valley  puzzled  over  what 
was  east  of  the  mountain  range,  so  the  folk  of 
the  Contented  Kingdom  puzzled  over  what 
was  west  of  it. 

The  years  passed,  and  the  good  King  and 
Queen  died.  The  Prince  was  now  ruler  of  the 
realm,  or  would  be  as  soon  as  he  was  old 
enough.  His  Crown  was  all  of  red  gold,  heavy 
and  shining,  and  he  tried  it  on  once  or  twice, 
to  see  how  it  felt.  He  found  that  it  made  his 
head  ache,  so  he  made  up  his  mind  that,  even 
when  he  should  be  King,  he  would  wear  it  as 
little  as  possible.  Just  the  same,  the  big, 
golden  circlet  fascinated  him,  and  he  used  to 
look  at  it  often  and  think  and  think  about 
what  it  meant  to  be  a  King. 

One  thing  he  knew  that  it  meant.  He  was 
quite  certain  to  be  more  bored  as  a  King  than 
he  was  now  as  a  King's  Son.  He  used  to  get 
quite  gloomy  about  it — in  his  fine,  golden 
Kingdom ! 

At  sixteen  the  King's  Son  was  tall  and 
strong  and  handsome.  He  carried  his  head 
proudly,  and  walked  with  a  swinging  step. 


22  Kbnigskinder 

One  would  have  had  to  be  very  stupid  indeed 
not  to  see  that  he  was  of  the  blood  royal.  His 
eyes  were  clear  and  bright,  and  he  looked  eager 
and  ready  for  anything. 

Although  one  could  see  so  plainly  that  he  was 
a  Prince,  he  did  not  put  on  airs.  He  was  far 
too  nice  for  that,  and  his  manners  were  too 
good.  He  was  just  a  plucky,  healthy,  well- 
bred  boy,  with  too  much  pride  and  too  little 
patience,  and  a  warm,  impetuous  heart.  You 
would  have  liked  the  King's  Son. 

In  his  heart  he  knew  that  the  existence 
which  he  led  was  not  the  right  one  for  a  boy. 
If  he  had  been  a  girl  it  would  have  been  differ- 
ent. It  would  have  been  delightful  for  a  young 
Princess  to  have  been  dressed  in  silk  and  jewels, 
and  to  have  had  silver-shod  ponies  and  pretty 
toys — think  how  the  poor  little  Goose  Girl, 
for  instance,  would  have  loved  it!  But  the 
King's  Son  wanted  a  ruder  and  less  comfort- 
able life.  You  know  what  fun  it  is  to  go  camp- 
ing, and  to  work  out  of  doors.  The  Prince  of 
the  Contented  Kingdom  wanted  to  do  the  sort 
of  things  that  nowadays  we  call  "roughing  it!" 


The  King's   Son  23 

Besides,  deep  down  in  his  heart  he  hated  to 
feel  that  every  one  was  devoted  to  him  merely 
because  he  was  a  King's  Son.  Although,  like 
most  boys,  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  caring 
about  such  things,  he  had  a  great  longing  to 
be  loved  just  for  himself.  He  could  not  help 
seeing  that  his  page  and  esquire  were  popular 
with  other  boys,  not  because  they  were  rich 
or  powerful  or  born  to  great  names,  but  because 
they  were  merry  and  brave  and  kind-hearted, 
and  could  do  things  well.  And  he  wondered  if 
he  would  be  as  popular  as  they,  without  his 
fine  clothes,  and  the  right  to  being  called  ' '  Your 
Highness." 

And  day  by  day  his  dream  grew  into  a  very 
real  desire,  and  at  last  he  came  to  his  decision 
— the  decision  to  run  away. 

Of  course  we  may  say  that  it  was  wrong  of 
him,  that  he  should  not  have  turned  his  back 
on  his  people  and  his  country,  nor  give  up 
doing  the  things  that  his  parents  had  wished 
him  to  do,  and  that  every  one  expected  him  to 
do.  But  he  was  already  sixteen,  and  he  had 
been  bored  all  his  life. 


24  Konigskinder 

The  young  peasants  could  run  races  upon  the 
highroad,  climb  trees,  and  run  away  from  school 
to  go  fishing.  But  the  King's  Son  had  to  wear 
a  velvet  cloak,  and  learn  the  Laws  of  the  King- 
dom, and  see  stupid  Ambassadors  and  Coun- 
cilors. Really,  in  spite  of  his  good  fortune, 
his  life  was  rather  a  dull  one! 

At  any  rate,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
could  not  and  would  not  stand  it.  He  would 
run  away,  climb  the  Wonderful  Mountains, 
and  find  out  whether  there  was  anything  at  all 
beyond  them. 

He  planned  it  all  out  very  carefully.  He 
would  exchange  suits  with  his  favorite  esquire, 
arm  himself  with  a  good  bow  and  a  quiverful 
of  strong  arrows,  take  a  stout  staff  to  help  him 
in  his  climbing,  and  go  out  into  the  world  to 
seek  his  fortune! 

But  he  was  not  very  consistent,  as  you  will 
see.  He  wanted  to  stop  being  a  King's  Son 
and  start  on  his  travels  quite  like  a  common 
lad;  and  yet  what  do  you  suppose  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  carry  with  him?  First,  his 
father's  Sword,  which  only  the  Kings  of  the 


The  King's   Son  25 

Contented  Kingdom  had  a  right  to  use;  and 
second,  the  Crown! 

Yes!  He  was  determined  to  take  his  Crown. 
He  could  not  have  told  just  why  he  wanted  it 
with  him,  but  when  he  got  ready  to  run  away 
he  could  not  bear  to  leave  it  behind. 

One  early  morning  he  dressed  himself  in  the 
esquire's  clothes — a  common  huntsman's  suit, 
of  dull-red  cloth,  with  a  little  cap  such  as 
peasants  and  serving-folk  wore.  He  slung  a 
rough  crossbow  and  arrow-quiver  on  his  back, 
and  buckled  on  the  King's  Sword.  Then  he 
took  the  great  golden  Crown  and  tied  it  up  in 
a  handkerchief.  This  bundle  he  fastened  on  to 
the  end  of  his  stick.  So  he  was  ready. 

He  took  no  money  and  no  food.  It  was  part 
of  his  idea  that  he  ought  to  be  able  to  earn 
both.  A  boy  worthy  to  be  a  King  should  be 
able  to  get  along  without  help  on  a  journey — 
that  was  what  he  said  to  himself,  poor  lad! 
You  see,  he  was  brave  and  strong  of  heart,  our 
young  Prince. 

It  was  very  quiet  in  the  Palace.  The  sun 
was  only  just  beginning  to  creep  in  at  the  big 


26  Konigskinder 

windows  and  paint  the  stone  floor  yellow. 
Every  one  was  sound  asleep.  Even  the  dogs 
lay  still  in  the  great  hall,  and  the  tame  birds 
dozed  on  their  golden  perches. 

The  Prince's  favorite  hound  lifted  his  head 
and  wagged  his  tail.  He  would  have  loved  to 
have  gone,  too,  and  it  nearly  broke  the  boy's 
heart  to  leave  him  behind.  But  he  was  afraid 
that  the  other  dogs  would  follow  their  tracks, 
and  besides,  willing  as  he  was  to  risk  hardships 
for  himself,  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  the 
hound's  being  hungry  or  cold  among  the 
mountains.  So  he  left  him. 

He  tiptoed  softly  out  of  the  hall,  through 
the  huge  entrance-doors,  and  down  the  broad, 
marble  steps. 

Outside  the  morning  was  fresh  and  sweet. 
The  birds  of  the  Contented  Kingdom  were  sing- 
ing in  the  leaves.  The  air  was  very  still  and 
full  of  perfumes. 

The  King's  Son  looked  his  last  on  the  royal 
Palace,  sleeping  in  the  center  of  the  woods  and 
gardens,  and  then  turned  his  face  toward  the 
Wonderful  Mountains. 


The  King's    Son 


27 


So  he  set  forth  upon  his  long,  strange  jour- 
ney —  a  shabby  wanderer,  in  huntsman's  array, 
with  a  King's  Sword  and  a  King's  Crown! 


THE    KING'S    SON    WHEN    HE    WAS    A    PRINCE 

I 


THE    KING  S    SON    WHEN    HE    WAS    A    HUNTSMAN 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   WITCH'S    BAKING-DAY 


ONE    OF    THE    GOOSE    GIRL  S    MELODIES 


IT  was  midsummer  in  the  clearing  by  the 
Witch's  Hut. 

I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  the  Hut.  It 
was  a  queer  little  old  picture-book  house,  very 
crooked  and  weather-beaten,  with  damp,  green 
moss  all  over  the  roof,  and  such  a  broken-down 
chimney  that  it  was  a  wonder  the  smoke  ever 
found  its  way  up  the  twisted  flue.  But  there 
it  was,  coming  busily  out  of  the  top  and  floating 
over  the  trees,  showing  that  it  was  the  Witch's 
baking-day. 


The  Witch's   Baking-Day          29 

The  great,  green  wood  rustled  sleepily  on  all 
sides. 

It  was  very  warm,  a  real  summer  afternoon. 
There  was  hardly  any  wind,  and  the  sunshine 
lay  hot  and  golden  on  the  little  shanty  and  the 
grassy  clearing  before  it.  The  Tom  Cat  was 
asleep  on  the  roof  as  usual.  The  Raven  had 
settled  his  head  between  his  hunched-up,  ruffled, 
black  wings,  and  closed  his  eyes.  Sometimes, 
when  he  went  quite  to  sleep,  he  would  nearly 
tumble  off  the  ridge-pole,  but  most  of  the  time 
he  merely  drowsed,  and  croaked  in  his  dreams. 

The  spring  trickled  slowly  through  the 
wooden  trough;  even  the  water  seemed  sleepy. 

The  Geese  were  strolling  about,  eating  the 
flowers  and  bulbs  in  the  tiny  garden,  and  doing 
their  best  to  get  lost  in  the  wood,  for  their 
little  mistress,  for  once  in  her  life,  was  neglect- 
ing them.  The  Goose  Girl  was  lying  under  the 
linden-tree,  singing  to  herself. 

She  was  not  a  lazy  little  girl,  as  a  rule,  but 
it  is  hard  not  to  dream  day-dreams  in  mid- 
summer— especially  when  you  live  in  the  heart 
of  an  Enchanted  Forest. 


30  Konigskinder 

"Cackle!"  said  the  Geese.  "She  may  dream 
away  now,  poor  dear!  It  is  little  dreaming 
she  will  do  one  of  these  days,  if  we  know  the 
world!  Cackle!" 

"Let  us  eat  up  that  big  yellow  lily  in  the 
garden,"  suggested  a  young  gosling. 

"No,"  said  the  Wise  Gray  One,  the  oldest 
goose  of  all.  "That  is  the  Goose  Girl's  favorite 
flower." 

"Squawk!"  they  said,  and  scattered  to  look 
for  lady-bugs. 

"Tra-la-la!"  hummed  the  little  Goose  Girl, 
pulling  at  the  flowers  and  grasses  about  her. 

'"I  wish— that  I— 

Had  a  silver  spindle —  ' ' 

She  didn't  know  any  more  of  the  song,  so 
she  sang  the  first  bars  over  and  over. 
"'I  wish— that  I—'" 

A  harsh  voice  broke  in  upon  her  song  and 
her  day-dream. 

"You  lazy  little  brat!"  growled  the  Witch, 
from  the  window  of  the  Hut.  ' '  What  are  you 
doing  now?" 


The  Witch's  Baking-Day          3  i 

"I'm  lying  in  the  grass,"  answered  the  Goose 
Girl.  "The  sun  is  singing  and  dancing  with 
me." 

The  faintly  moving  branches  and  leaves  made 
the  sunbeams  leap  about  in  the  merriest  man- 
ner. The  Goose  Girl  loved  to  watch  them. 
But  any  mention  of  the  sun  made  the  Witch 
crosser  than  ever.  She  hated  daylight. 

"Do  you  want  to  feel  my  stick  across  your 
back?"  she  called,  sharply.  "Where  are  your 
geese?" 

The  Goose  Girl  sat  up  with  a  start. 

"They've  probably  strayed  into  the  woods 
and  lost  themselves,"  went  on  the  Witch. 
"And  the  ones  that  aren't  already  in  the 
thickets  are  in  the  garden!  Of  course!  Go 
and  chase  them  this  minute!" 

The  Goose  Girl  sprang  up  and  obeyed  at  once. 

"Ksch!  Ksch!"  she  called,  making  the  little 
hushing  noise  known  to  all  herders  of  geese. 
"Ksch!  Come  here,  you  waddling  things! 
Ksch !  You  Old  Gray  One,  you  ought  to  know 
better!  Come  out  of  the  garden,  or  I'll  slap 
you  all!  Ksch!" 


32  Konigskinder 

The  Witch  glared  at  her  through  the  window. 
You  never  saw  such  a  horrible  old  face.  Peering 
out  like  that  it  was  enough  to  give  one  night- 
mares. 

When  the  old  hag  had  withdrawn  her  wicked 
head  the  little  Goose  Girl  gathered  her  flock 
about  her,  tenderly  smoothed  their  soft  feath- 
ers, and  begged  them  not  to  run  away  again. 
"You  know,"  she  added,  "when  you  are 
naughty  Grandmother  beats  me." 

"Squawk!  Cackle!  We  are  sorry,"  said  the 
Geese. 

The  door  of  the  Hut  opened,  and  the  Witch 
came  out,  dressed  in  the  dusty,  musty,  rusty, 
horrible  gown,  and  a  cap  and  kerchief  more 
ragged  and  dirty  than  anything  you  have  ever 
seen. 

"Come  in  here!"  she  snapped,  flourishing  her 
crooked  cane.  "The  acorns  are  ready  for  the 
cake." 

The  Goose  Girl  looked  into  the  dark  hovel. 

"Must  I  go  in  ?"  she  pleaded,  wistfully.  "It's 
so  gloomy  and  horrid  indoors — just  like  night!" 

"The    hateful    sun!"    retorted    the    Witch, 


The  Witch's   Baking-Day          33 

frowning  angrily.  "How  you  love  it!  You 
are  no  true  Witch  Child,  in  spite  of  all  the 
trouble  I  have  taken  with  you.  I  tell  you  the 
dark  is  beautiful!" 

She  actually  smiled. 

"The  night!"  she  muttered,  with  ghostly 
glee.  "Aha!  The  night!  When  the  goblin 
moon  whitens  the  hills  and  the  poison  swells 
in  the  wild  weeds!  Aha!  But  you!"  She 
shook  her  stick  furiously  at  the  Goose  Girl. 
"You  love  the  sun  and  the  summer  day.  It's 
no  use.  All  the  pains  in  the  world  won't 
make  you  a  Witch  Child." 

"I'll  come,"  said  the  little  Goose  Girl,  sadly, 
and  went  toward  the  Hut/ 

Just  at  the  door  she  stopped  to  look  at  her 
garden.  You  never  saw  such  an  odd  little  gar- 
den. The  Goose  Girl  had  planted  it  neatly  and 
taken  good  care  of  it,  but  the  blossoms  were 
different  from  those  in  mortal  flower-beds,  of 
strange  colors  and  shapes.  She  had  transplanted 
them  from  various  parts  of  the  Enchanted  Wood. 

Among  the  flowers  was  a  yellow  lily,  large 
and  beautiful,  the  little  girl's  favorite,  as  the 


34  Konigskinder 

Gray  Goose  had  said.  She  called  it  her  Flower, 
and  felt  as  though  there  were  some  tie  between 
it  and  her.  But  of  all  the  blossoms,  big  and 
little,  in  the  garden,  it  was  the  only  one  which 
would  not  thrive.  It  drooped  on  its  green 
stem,  and  the  pretty  petals  never  would  en- 
tirely open  out. 

"Grandmother,"  said  the  Goose  Girl,  "is  my 
pet  Flower  sick  ?  It  has  never  done  well  since 
it  began  to  bud.  What's  the  matter  with  it?" 

"It's  a  lily,"  said  the  Witch,  crossly,  "so  it's 
stuck  up!" 

"Every  morning  when  I  water  my  flowers," 
went  on  the  Goose  Girl,  "I  say  a  little  prayer 
for  it  to  bloom  and  grow.  But  it  always  looks 
wilted." 

She  sighed  and  went  into  the  house.  I  won- 
der how  the  little  Goose  Girl  knew  how  to  say 
her  prayers.  You  may  be  quite  certain  that 
the  Witch  never  taught  her. 

' '  Bustle  now !"  snarled  the  old  dame.  ' '  Don't 
be  lazy,  or  you'll  be  sorry." 

The  Goose  Girl  knew  that  it  was  baking-day, 
and  that  she  and  her  mistress  would  have  to 


The  Witch's  Baking-Day          35 

make  a  magical  cake.  She  hated  these  cooking- 
lessons,  but  the  Witch  would  beat  her  if  she  dis- 
obeyed. 

"Bring  everything  here  to  the  spring,"  or- 
dered the  old  woman ;  and  the  little  maid  came 
out  with  both  arms  laden.  "Have  you  the 
bowl  ?"  demanded  the  Witch.  "And  the  meal  ? 
And  the  spices?" 

The  Goose  Girl  nodded.  She  had  brought  a 
great  copper  kettle,  too,  the  pot  which  they 
always  used  for  mixing  the  magic  dough.  She 
set  out  bowl  and  kettle,  spoon  and  meal-sack, 
the  acorns  and  the  spice-jar,  and  the  ground-up, 
many-colored  herbs  which  the  Witcii  had 
prepared. 

Her  mistress  watched  her,  scowling.  She 
could  not  help  seeing  how  pretty  and  gentle 
and  graceful  the  child  was,  and  she  hated  her 
for  it.  As  the  Goose  Girl  knelt  beside  the 
spring  a  golden  lock  slipped  out  from  under 
the  faded  red  kerchief.  She  had  tried  secretly 
that  morning  to  brush  it  into  a  ringlet,  and  the 
Witch  knew  it  at  once. 

"Curling  that  corn-colored  mop  of  yours!" 


36  Konigskinder 

she  sneered.  "Trying  to  make  a  beauty  of 
yourself,  you  ugly,  silly  wench!" 

The  Goose  Girl  was  leaning  over  the  edge  of 
the  stone  basin,  scouring  the  inside  of  the  copper 
kettle  with  handfuls  of  grass  and  sand.  As  the 
Witch  spoke  she  looked  up  quickly. 

"Even  my  flowers  dress  themselves  in  pretty 
colors  and  ornament  themselves  with  dew," 
she  said,  with  just  a  wee  flash  of  temper.  "I 
wish  I  were  a  flower — yes,  I  do !  But,  any- 
way"— she  put  more  sand  into  the  copper  pot — 
"I  saw  myself  in  the  spring  the  other  day, 
and  I  thought  I  looked — nice." 

"Will  you  rinse  that  kettle?"  remarked  the 
Witch,  in  a  dangerous  tone.  "Or  is  the  spring 
to  be  used  for  nothing  but  a  looking-glass?" 

"Grandmother,"  said  the  Goose  Girl,  scour- 
ing away  at  the  copper  kettle,  "how  long  have 
you  and  I  lived  here  alone  in  the  Wood  ?" 

"Nine  —  ten  —  eleven  years,"  counted  the 
Geese;  but  the  Goose  Girl  did  not  hear  them. 

"Suppose  you  talk  sense!"  said  the  Witch, 
angrily.  "I've  trained  you  well.  I've  shown 
you  how  to  steep  simples  and  make  poisons. 


The   Witch's   Baking-Day  37 

I've  taught  you  spells  and  explained  to  you 
charms  and  magic  passes.  But  you  never  seem 
to  learn!  You  dream  dreams,  and  ask  silly 
questions.  Your  wits  are  always  wool-gather- 
ing. Now  to-day  we  have  a  piece  of  fine  Witch 
Work  to  be  done.  Pay  attention!" 

The  Goose  Girl  shivered.  She  hated  the 
Witch's  magic.  It  was  black  and  wicked,  and 
nearly  always  was  intended  to  hurt  some  one 
sooner  or  later.  I  wonder  how  she  would  have 
felt  if  she  could  have  foreseen  the  important 
part  this  day's  baking  was  to  play  in  her  own 
future! 

"You  must  not  sing  nor  laugh,  now,"  said 
the  Witch,  in  a  hollow  tone.  "It  is  a  spell!" 

"Our  little  mistress  looks  sad  enough,"  said 
the  Geese.  "Cackle!  There  is  a  pink  cater- 
pillar! Squawk!" 

The  Witch  waved  her  crooked  stick  and  gave 
directions  with  a  mysterious  air,  and  the  Goose 
Girl  knelt  beside  the  spring  and  mixed  the 
Magic  Cake. 

"Pour  water  into  the  meal!"  muttered  the 
Witch.  "Mix  it  carefully!  Now  your  spice- 

4 


38  Kcinigskinder 

box  and  powdered  herbs:  first  a  grain  of  red, 
then  a  grain  of  black.  Now  knead  the  dough 
into  a  nice,  plump  loaf." 

The  little  Goose  Girl  kneaded  until  her  arms 
ached,  and  as  she  kneaded  her  brain  was  busy. 

"Grandmother,"  she  said,  timidly,"! — I  don't 
believe  that  you  have  ever  been  very  fond  of  me." 

The  Witch  gave  a  start  and  stared  at  her. 

"During  the  summer,"  proceeded  the  little 
Goose  Girl,  gathering  courage,  "you  have  not 
much  need  of  me.  I  wish — I  wish — oh,  Grand- 
mother!" she  burst  out,  "let  me  go  down  to 
the  Valley  where  the  Mortal  People  live!" 

She  looked  pleadingly  at  the  Witch,  then 
began  to  knead  the  dough  harder  than  ever. 

"They  must  be  so  beautiful,  and  so  friendly," 
faltered  the  little  Goose  Girl,  almost  in  tears. 
"  I  do  so  want  to  see  them !  Even  you,  Grand- 
mother, come  home  cheerful  when  you  have 
been  among  them.  You  must  like  them." 

"I  hate  them!"  muttered  the  Witch.  "But 
I  like  their  gold.  It's  only  their  money  that 
takes  me  into  their  stuffy,  crooked  streets. 
And  as  for  them,  they  are  afraid  of  me." 


The  Witch's   Baking-Day  39 

She  gave  a  horrible  chuckle. 

"No  one  could  be  afraid  of  me,"  said  the 
little  Goose  Girl,  as  she  kneaded  the  dough. 
"Let  me  go  down  and  see  them  just  once." 

"Have  a  care!"  cried  the  Witch,  with  a  ter- 
rible look.  "Every  tree  and  shrub  in  the 
Enchanted  Wood  is  rooted  in  magic.  They 
hold  you  here  in  my  power.  If  you  try  to  get 
away  the  earth  will  scorch  you.  Only  try,  and 
you  will  see!" 

She  raised  her  stick  and  pointed  to  the  dark 
wood. 

"Do  you  want  to  go?"  she  said,  mockingly. 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  the  Goose  Girl,  with  the 
tears  running  down  her  cheeks.  "What  I 
could  do,  I  may  not;  and  what  I  may  do,  I 
can't.  There's  your  dough." 

She  had  finished  kneading,  and  raised  the 
plump,  white  loaf  from  the  copper  pot.  The 
Witch  liked  her  to  try  her  hand  at  spells  and 
charms,  so  she  waved  the  dough  three  times 
in  the  air  and  chanted: 

"Who  eats  this  Cake  sees  his  love  so  true; 
Who  eats  this  Cake  shall  have  his  dream  come  true!" 


4O  Konigskinder 

Then  she  gave  the  dough  to  the  Witch. 

"H'm!"  said  that  pleasant  old  lady.  "You 
haven't  much  idea  of  what  you've  been  making, 
to  say  that  charm  over  it!" 

She  looked  darkly  at  the  loaf  she  held,  and 
murmured : 

"It  will  never  grow  hard,  never  grow  stale, 
through  the  long  years. 

"The  magic  which  made  it  will  weaken  never; 
Who  eats  of  this  Cake  shall  sleep    forever!" 

"But  my  spell!"  cried  the  Goose  Girl.  "What 
of  that?" 

The  Witch  laughed.  "It's  a  nice  mess  of 
poison,  my  child,"  she  said.  "Poison  that  will 
not  spoil.  Aha!" 

And  she  went  into  the  Hut  to  bake  the  Cake. 

"Grandmother,  don't!"  wailed  the  Goose 
Girl,  thinking  of  the  poor  unfortunate,  who- 
ever he  might  be,  who  was  to  eat  it. 

"Stop  screaming!"  said  the  Witch. 

She  was  out  in  a  moment,  carrying  her  big 
basket. 

"I'm  going  down  to  the  Black  Marsh  to 
hunt,"  she  said,  brusquely.  "It  rained  last 


The  Witch's   Baking-Day  41 

night,  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  snails  and 
worms  and  slimy  green  lizards!" 

She  aimed  a  blow  at  the  flock  of  Geese  with 
her  stick,  and  hobbled  briskly  off  into  the  Forest. 

"Rude!"  said  the  Wise  Gray  One. 

"Squawk!"  agreed  the  others. 

The  Goose  Girl  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"All  alone!"  she  whispered. 

She  got  her  wreath  and  put  it  on,  and  then 
went  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  basin  once  more. 
Then  she  looked  dreamily  at  her  reflection. 

"I  wonder  if  I  am  really  pretty?"  she  asked 
herself. 

"Yes — yes — yes!"  hissed  the  Geese,  softly. 

There  was  a  faint  sound  of  crashing  twigs 
somewhere  near  in  the  Wood.  The  little  Goose 
Girl  started  up  in  alarm. 

"Was  that  Grandmother?"  she  exclaimed, 
aloud. 

Silence  again. 

"The  wind  in  the  branches,"  she  said,  and 
seated  herself. 

"I  doubt  it — cackle,  cackle!"  said  the  Wise 
Gray  Goose. 


42  Konigskinder 

The  Goose  Girl  sat  on  the  mossy  stones  and 
looked  into  the  spring.  All  was  very  still. 
The  Enchanted  Forest  held  its  breath.  The 
Tom  Cat  and  the  Raven  opened  their  eyes. 
They  knew  something  was  going  to  happen. 

A  sound  again.  There  was  no  question  about 
it  this  time.  It  was  a  step. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  turned  to  look. 

There  was  a  stranger  in  the  clearing! 

THIS  IS  WHAT  THE  GOOSE  GIRLSANG  OVER  THE  MAGIC  CAKE 


Who  eats  this  cake  Sees   his  love  so  true  !" 


AND    THIS    IS    WHAT    THE    WITCH    CHANTED 


' '  Nev-er  grow  hard,     Never  grow  stale ' 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   WREATH   AND   THE    CROWN 

WHEN    THE    KING'S    SON    ASKED    THE    GOOSE    GIRL    TO 
BE     HIS    LITTLE    LADY 


THE  stranger  bowed  to  her  politely  and  lifted 
his  cap. 

He  was  a  lad  a  little  older  than  herself, 
straight  and  strongly  built,  and  tanned  to 
bronze  by  the  hard  weather  he  had  met.  His 
eyes  were  bright  and  fearless,  and  he  bore  him- 
self gracefully  and  easily.  His  huntsman's 
suit  of  dull-red  cloth  was  torn  by  brambles 
and  stained  by  rain,  but  the  Goose  Girl  thought 
him  very  handsome;  and  indeed  he  was.  As 


44  Konigskinder 

you  have  guessed  by  this  time,  he  was  no  other 
than  the  King's  Son. 

The  Goose  Girl  stood  and  stared  at  him,  and 
he  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  bewildered 
face.  He  glanced  from  her  to  the  Geese  and 
back  again. 

"Good-day  to  you,  pretty  Goose  Queen,"  he 
said,  merrily,  his  cap  in  hand.  "Why  do  you 
look  at  me  like  that?  Come,  little  Wood 
Maiden,  haven't  you  a  friendly  word  for  a 
wanderer?" 

The  Goose  Girl  drew  a  long  breath,  then 
found  her  voice. 

"Are  you  a  Mortal?"  she  said. 

The  King's  Son  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed. 

"From  head  to  foot,"  he  declared. 

The  Goose  Girl  stared  harder  than  ever. 

"No  one  ever  came  here  before,"  she  ex- 
plained. "You  are  the  first  person  I  have  ever 
seen,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you." 

It  was  his  turn  to  stare. 

"Are  you  sure  you  aren't  telling  stories?" 
he  asked,  smiling  but  not  believing.  "You 


The  Wreath  and  the   Crown       45 

must  be  twelve  or  thirteen — almost  grown  up— 
and  you  tell  me  you've  never  seen  any  one 
before?" 

"No  one  ever  comes  to  the  Magic  Wood," 
said  the  Goose  Girl,  simply.  "Nothing  comes 
— nothing  except  sunshine  in  summer  and 
snowstorms  in  winter." 

"But  aren't  you  lonely?"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  pityingly.  "Haven't  you  any  one  to 
play  with?" 

"Grandmother  is  very  old,"  said  the  Goose 
Girl.  "She  likes  to  live  here  alone.  But  she 
has  seen  the  Mortal  People — down  in  the  Valley. 
Is  that  where  you  come  from?"  she  added, 
eagerly. 

The  King's  Son  shook  his  head,  and  pointed 
up  to  the  mountain-tops  above  them. 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  come  from  a  great  dis- 
tance, beyond  the  ridge.  I've  traveled  for  days 
and  nights." 

1 '  What  did  you  have  to  eat  ?"  asked  the  Goose 
Girl. 

"Roots!"  he  said,  and  laughed. 

"And  what  did  you  drink?" 


46  Konigskinder 

"Dew!" 

"But  what  did  you  sleep  on  ?"  she  cried. 

"Sharp  stones!"  he  retorted,  gaily.  "And 
look  at  the  rags  I'm  in!" 

The  King's  Son  had  had  plenty  of  "roughing 
it "  at  last,  on  his  long  journey  over  the  Wonder- 
ful Mountains.  The  sun  had  scorched  him, 
and  the  keen  east  wind  had  chilled  him.  He 
had  rested  on  the  hard  ground,  and  trudged 
so  many  miles  each  day  that  his  hunting-shoes 
were  nearly  worn  out.  In  his  luxurious  Con- 
tented Kingdom  he  had  longed  to  test  his 
strength  and  his  spirit,  and  now  his  courtiers 
would  hardly  have  recognized  him,  with  his 
brown  face  and  tattered  doublet. 

The  little  Goose  Girl  was  looking  with  won- 
dering eyes  at  what  hung  at  his  side.  She 
seemed  to  know  by  instinct  what  it  was. 

"Is  that  a  sword?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "but  it  isn't  worth  much  yet. 
It  hasn't  even  a  name." 

And  he  looked  down  at  it,  and  shook  his  head 
with  a  sigh. 

You  know,   in   those  days  men  gave  their 


The  Wreath  and  the   Crown       47 

swords  fine-sounding  names  when  they  had 
done  great  deeds  with  them — won  battles,  or 
rescued  people  in  distress,  or  killed  dragons. 
You  remember  King  Arthur's  sword,  Excalibur, 
and  Siegfried's  Needful.  The  King's  Son  had 
a  dream  of  making  his  sword  equally  renowned 
by  some  splendid  fighting,  one  of  these  days. 
That  was  why  he  looked  so  wistfully  at  the 
noble  old  blade,  which  still  went  by  the  simple 
title  of  the  King's  Sword.  But  after  all  I  think 
that  is  rather  a  fine  name  for  a  sword,  don't  you  ? 

The  Goose  Girl  looked  up  very  gravely. 

"And  are  you  brave?"  she  asked. 

The  question  rather  astonished  the  King's 
Son.  He  had  been  brought  up  to  think  that 
only  persons  of  high  birth  thought  about 
courage  and  those  fine,  heroic  things.  His 
courtiers  had  told  him  that  peasants  were 
cowards,  and  he  could  not  altogether  get  the 
idea  out  of  his  mind  that  bravery  and  royalty 
went  together.  And,  of  course,  they  should 
go  together.  One  must  be  brave  to  be  truly 
royal;  but  then,  too,  one  cannot  help  being  a 
little  royal  if  one  is  truly  brave. 


48  Kbnigskinder 

"And  are  you  brave?"  said  the  Goose  Girl. 

"You  said  that  just  as  my  Lady  Mother 
might  have  said  it,"  he  said,  wonderingly. 

"Squawk!"  said  the  Geese,  indignantly. 
"And  why  shouldn't  she?" 

"Our  little  mistress  is  as  good  as  any- 
body's Lady  Mother,"  said  the  Wise  Gray 
Goose. 

The  sun  seemed  to  be  hotter  than  ever.  You 
know  how  breathless  it  gets  on  summer  after- 
noons, just  before  the  shadows  lengthen  and 
the  twilight  breeze  rises.  The  King's  Son  threw 
his  cap  on  the  grass  and  pushed  his  hair  back 
from  his  forehead. 

"The  sun  burns  one  up,"  he  exclaimed. 
"Could  I  have  a  drink  of  spring-water,  please  ?" 

The  Goose  Girl  showed  him  how  she  drank 
when  she  was  thirsty.  Sitting  on  the  stone 
ledge  of  the  basin,  she  would  lean  over  and 
hold  up  her  face  under  the  spout  of  the  wooden 
trough,  so  that  the  water  would  run  into  her 
mouth.  The  King's  Son  now  did  the  same. 

"How  good  it  is!"  he  cried,  gratefully — this 
young  Prince  who  but  a  short  time  before  had 


The  Wreath  and  the   Crown       49 

been  drinking  all  sorts  of  delicious  things  from 
jeweled  cups! 

"Don't  you  want  to  rest  a  little  while?" 
asked  the  Goose  Girl,  shyly. 

The  King's  Son  admitted  that  he  was  tired 
and  hot.  He  sat  down  under  the  linden-tree 
on  the  soft,  flower-covered  bank. 

"Please  sit  down,  too!"  he  begged.  And  she 
settled  herself  on  the  grass  beside  him. 

"Cackle!  Squawk!  What  nice-looking  chil- 
dren they  are!"  said  the  Wise  Gray  Goose, 
proudly. 

"Yes!"  hissed  all  the  others. 

As  the  King's  Son  sat  on  the  bank  with  the 
Goose  Girl  he  suddenly  thought  of  the  dandi- 
fied courtiers  at  home,  who  were  accustomed 
to  stand  about  respectfully  when  he  took 
his  seat.  Times  had  certainly  changed!  He 
laughed  to  himself  and  murmured  half  aloud, 
"If  they  could  only  see  me  now!" 

It  was  sweet  and  cool  in  the  shade  of  the 
linden-tree.  He  drew  a  deep  breath  and 
stretched  himself  out  on  the  fresh  grass. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  demanded  the 


50  Konigskinder 

Goose  Girl,  who,  you  see,  was  a  direct  little 
person  and  did  not  waste  words.  The  King's 
Son  liked  her  the  better  for  this  frank  and 
simple  manner,  and  he  thought  her  wonder- 
fully sweet  and  gentle,  and  pretty,  too. 

The  King's  Son  saw  that  she  was  honestly 
anxious  to  hear  more  about  him,  and  it  pleased 
him.  No  one  had  ever  before  been  interested 
in  him  for  himself. 

"I  am  a  huntsman,"  he  told  her.  "I  come 
from  a  beautiful  country  which  lies  behind  the 
mountains.  There  I — there  I  served  the  King." 

He  spoke  with  hesitation.  He  did  not  want 
to  tell  her  that  he  was  a  Prince.  But  rank 
meant  nothing  to  the  Goose  Girl. 

"What's  a  King?"  said  she. 

The  King's  Son  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
He  looked  at  her  hard  to  be  sure  that  she  was 
not  joking.  She  was  quite  serious,  as  he  saw. 

"Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  isn't  very 
easy  to  explain.  Let's  see.  Well,  how  do  you 
take  care  of  your  Geese?" 

"I  keep  them  from  running  away,"  answered 
the  Goose  Girl,  promptly.  "And  I  warn  them 


The  Wreath  and   the   Crown       51 

out  of  the  garden.  And  when  they  are  very 
bad  I  slap  them." 

"That's  the  idea!"  cried  the  King's  Son. 
"You  sit  on  a  bank,  and  the  King  sits  on  a 
throne;  that's  the  chief  difference.  You  watch 
geese,  and  he  watches  people.  He  rewards  the 
good  ones  and  slaps  the  bad."  The  Prince 
laughed  at  the  likeness  between  a  sovereign  and 
a  goose-herder.  Then  he  went  on  more  seri- 
ously, "And  when  he  does  his  work  properly, 
and  is  a  true  King,  every  one  is  glad  to  do 
what  he  says." 

Something  in  his  voice  made  the  Goose  Girl 
glance  at  him.  And  then  she  leaned  forward, 
and  said,  quietly: 

"Are  you  a  King?" 

"No,"  said  the  boy.  "I  am  too  young  to  be 
a  King  yet.  A  King  has  to  have  a  long  beard 
and  a  grave  face,  and  I  haven't  either.  I — I 
am  a  King's  Son,"  he  finished,  awkwardly. 

Of  course  the  Goose  Girl  wanted  to  know  all 
about  him,  and  everything  that  had  ever  hap- 
pened to  him,  just  as  you  would.  At  first  he 
did  not  like  to  speak  about  himself,  but  he  be- 


5  2  Kbnigskinder 

gan  to  talk,  and  he  talked  more  and  more  as 
he  found  how  she  loved  to  listen. 

The  King's  Son  told  her  about  his  childhood 
in  the  Contented  Kingdom.  He  told  her  of  his 
ponies  and  his  dogs,  and  his  birds,  and  the 
sports  and  games  planned  to  amuse  him,  and 
the  beautiful  things  that  he  had  owned.  And 
he  told  her,  too,  of  how  this  splendor  had 
wearied  him — of  how  he  had  longed  for  free- 
dom and  for  adventures. 

And  the  Goose  Girl  listened  spellbound,  for 
it  was  more  interesting  to  her  than  the  most 
delightful  fairy  tale  could  be  to  you  or  me. 
The  life  of  Kings  and  Princesses  seemed  to  her 
too  strange  and  marvelous  to  possibly  be  true. 
And  yet  she  knew  that  she  could  believe  every- 
thing he  told  her,  however  remarkable  it  might 
seem.  There  could  be  no  question  about  trust- 
ing the  King's  Son.  He  was  as  honest  and 
sunny  as  the  daylight,  and  he  had  never  told 
a  lie  in  his  life. 

"Cackle!  Squawk!"  chattered  the  Geese  to 
one  another,  as  they  paddled  in  the  mud  near 
the  overflowing  spring.  "If  we  don't  take  care 


The  Wreath   and   the   Crown       53 

he  will  take  our  little  mistress  away  and  make 
a  Queen  of  her." 

"But  she  is  nothing  but  a  Goose  Girl,"  ob- 
jected the  young  Gosling. 

"Cackle!  What  does  that  matter?"  said  the 
Wise  Gray  One.  "Squawk!" 

The  little  girl  who  sat  with  him  on  the  green 
bank  under  the  linden-tree  was  the  first  real 
friend  the  King's  Son  had  ever  had.  She  liked 
to  talk  to  him,  and  to  hear  what  had  happened 
to  him,  not  because  he  was  a  royal  person  to 
whom  she  must  curtsey,  but  because  he  was 
a  nice  boy,  and  had  something  interesting 
to  tell. 

He  told  her  the  story  of  his  flight  from  the 
Palace  and  the  Contented  Kingdom.  She  lis- 
tened breathlessly  with  eyes  as  big  and  round 
as  saucers. 

The  sun  began  to  get  a  trifle  less  hot,  and  a 
light  wind  arose.  The  linden-tree  rustled  soft- 
ly, and  the  flowers  seemed  to  freshen  as  the 
shadows  gathered. 

"Squawk!"  said  the  Geese,  uneasily.  "One 
does  not  like  all  this  talk  of  running  away.  He 


54  Kbnigskinder 

must  not  make  her  discontented  with  the  clear- 
ing. She  mustn't  go  away!" 

"No!"  said  the  Tom  Cat  and  the  Raven, 
speaking  together.  "She  must  never  go 
away!" 

The  Prince  told  the  Goose  Girl  of  his  journey 
across  the  Wonderful  Mountains.  He  had  had 
to  fight  bears  and  wolves,  and  climb  dangerous 
crags,  and  wade  through  rushing  torrents.  He 
had  been  badly  hurt  more  than  once — he  still 
had  scars  to  show.  But  he  knew  that  he  was 
the  better  for  his  adventures. 

"I  was  hungry  and  thirsty,"  he  said.  "I 
was  dead  tired,  and  my  feet  ached,  and  my 
wounds  hurt,  too.  But  I  hardened  my  muscles!" 
He  laughed  triumphantly.  "And  now,  when  I 
start  out  at  dawn  every  morning  I  feel  a  thou- 
sand times  more  a  King's  Son  than  I  ever  felt 
in  the  Palace!" 

The  little  Goose  Girl  sat  in  a  dream  of  won- 
der. She  thought  of  her  own  miserable  life  with 
the  Witch,  and  she  sighed. 

"How  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 


The  Wreath   and   the   Crown       55 

"Are  you  as  brave  as  all  that?"  he  said, 
laughing. 

"I  am  not  brave  at  all,"  said  the  Goose  Girl. 
"But  I  should  like  to  run  away  from  here  with 
you  and  have  adventures.  You  would  take 
care  of  me." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't,"  said  the 
King's  Son,  seriously,  and  he  thought  the 
matter  over  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"You  know,"  he  said  at  last,  "every  Knight 
when  he  goes  wandering  about  with  his  sword 
in  hand" — he  felt  very  important  and  heroic 
when  he  said  this — "serves  a  lady  and  carries 
her  colors." 

The  little  Goose  Girl  did  not  understand,  so 
he  explained:  "You  see,  a  Knight  has  to  have 
a  lady  to  fight  for  and  to  keep  brave  and  true 
for — some  one  who  will  be  glad  when  he  wins 
and  sorry  when  he  loses,  some  one  he  can  tell 
things  to,  and  who  will  be  his  own  particular 
Lady.  Do  you  see?" 

The  Goose  Girl  could  see. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  King's  Son,  practi- 
cally, "I  think  you  would  better  be  my  little 


56  Konigskinder 

Lady.  To  be  sure  you  are  not  very  old  yet, 
but  you  are  prettier  and  sweeter  than  any  of 
the  Court  Ladies  in  my  Kingdom,  and  when 
we  both  grow  up  I  will  marry  you — that  is,  if 
you  think  it  is  a  good  idea." 

The  Goose  Girl  said  she  did,  and  the  King's 
Son  kissed  her,  and  so  that  was  settled. 

"But  oh,  dear!"  cried  the  little  Goose  Girl. 
"There  goes  my  wreath!  The  wind  has  blown 
it  away!  Oh,  catch  it!" 

The  King's  Son  sprang  after  the  wreath 
and  caught  it  as  the  wind  whirled  it 
about. 

"I  have  it!"  he  exclaimed. 

"But  you've  broken  it!"  she  said,  ready  to 
cry.  "My  pretty  wreath!  It  was  the  only 
nice  thing  I  had  to  wear." 

The  King's  Son  had  torn  the  wreath  in  two 
in  trying  to  rescue  it  from  the  wind.  He  felt 
very  sorry,  for  she  seemed  to  be  grieving  over 
its  loss.  Of  course  she  could  make  another, 
but  she  liked  this  one. 

"I'll  tell  you!"  cried  the  King's  Son.  "A 
Knight  has  to  carry  his  Lady's  colors  or  her 


The  Wreath  and  the   Crown       57 

token.  Usually  she  gives  him  a  ribbon  or  a 
scarf  or  something — 

The  Goose  Girl  looked  sadder.  She  had  none 
of  these  things. 

"But  you,"  went  on  the  boy,  quickly,  "shall 
give  me  this  wreath  instead.  I'll  keep  it  al- 
ways— and  when  I  go  into  battle,"  he  added, 
grandly,  "it  will  bring  me  luck." 

He  tucked  the  broken  wreath  inside  his 
doublet.  "Now  I  am  a  regular  Knight,  and 
you  have  given  me  your  token  to  wear,  like  a 
real  Knight's  Lady." 

The  little  Goose  Girl  smiled,  but  he  could 
still  see  two  tears  trembling  in  her  eyes.  You 
see,  she  was  very  young  for  her  age,  and  she 
had  so  few  pleasures  and  no  pretty  things  at  all. 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him,  a  really 
wonderful  thought.  He  had  told  the  little 
Goose  Girl  that  when  they  grew  up  they  would 
be  married ;  why,  that  would  make  her  Queen ! 
For  the  first  time  he  began  seriously  to  con- 
sider going  back  to  the  Contented  Kingdom. 
It  would  be  such  fun  to  make  the  wise  old 
courtiers  do  homage  to  this  dear  little  girl. 


58  Kbnigskinder 

But  she  would  not  be  a  little  girl  then,  she 
would  be  a  young  maiden,  fair  and  slender,  like 
a  story-book  lady.  And  he  would  have  to 
grow  a  long  beard,  and  be  dignified  and  royal. 
No;  he  was  not  sure,  after  all,  that  he  could 
bear  to  go  back  and  be  a  King.  But,  anyway, 
the  little  maid  should  have — his  Crown. 

You  see,  that  was  the  wonderful  idea;  he 
would  give  the  Goose  Girl  his  Crown  to  wear 
instead  of  her  wreath  which  he  had  broken. 

He  hastily  untied  the  handkerchief  on  his 
stick  and  took  out  the  Crown.  It  was  as  bright 
and  splendid  as  ever.  The  Goose  Girl  had  not 
known  that  there  were  things  so  brilliant  in  the 
world. 

"A  Queen  was  intended  to  wear  this,  I  sup- 
pose," said  the  King's  Son,  "but  a  Goose  Girl 
will  do  just  as  well.  /  think  she  would  make 
a  very  nice  Queen."  And  he  made  her  a  little 
bow.  "This  is  in  exchange  for  your  pretty 
wreath.  You  let  me  keep  that,  so  I  give  you 
my  Crown." 

He  held  it  out  to  her.  But  the  Goose  Girl 
would  not  take  it. 


The  Wreath   and  the   Crown       59 

"It  isn't  mine,"  she  said.  "I'd  rather  not 
wear  it,  please.  It — it  would  hurt  my  fore- 
head, I  am  sure." 

The  King's  Son  was  a  self-willed  lad,  as  you 
have  seen  long  ago.  He  had  a  very  quick 
temper,  and  he  did  a  great  many  hasty  and 
foolish  things  before  he  had  time  to  think.  He 
was  a  little  angry  with  the  Goose  Girl  for  re- 
fusing his  Crown,  but  at  the  same  time  he 
rather  admired  her  for  it.  So  he  acted  on  a 
sudden  impulse  and  fired  the  big,  red-gold 
circlet  into  the  bushes. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Let  it  rust  there,  if 
you  don't  want  it.  I  certainly  don't!  That 
settles  my  royal  rank!"  And  he  laughed. 
' '  Now  I've  no  title  to  bother  me,  and  no  Crown 
to  carry.  I've  nothing  to  my  name  but  a 
sword,  and  whatever  good  or  bad  qualities  I 
happen  to  have  been  born  with.  Now,  do  you 
want  me  to  help  you  to  run  away  or  not  ?" 

"Oh,  indeed— indeed  I  do!"  cried  the  little 
Goose  Girl.  "Let  us  slip  away  together  at 
once." 

They    caught   hands    and    started    to   run. 


6o 


Kbnigskinder 


Suddenly,  at  the  very  edge  of  the  clearing,  the 
Goose  Girl  gave  a  cry  and  stopped  short, 


THE  SPELL  THAT  STOPPED  THE  GOOSE  GIRL 


«:  1  :      t=  ±=  1  •&." 
f"   *£  *     !«• 


L 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   SPELL 

THE    MOANING   MUSIC    IN    THE    WOOD 
\ 


"WHAT  is  the  matter?"  cried  the  King's 
Son. 

The  little  Goose  Girl  was  standing  stock  still, 
staring  straight  before  her  with  wide,  frightened 
eyes.  She  had  dropped  his  hand.  For  the 


62  Konigskinder 

moment  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him 
altogether. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?"  demanded  the 
boy,  a  trifle  impatiently.  "Nothing  is  wrong! 
Why  do  you  stand  there  like  that?" 

She  still  gazed  ahead  so  intently  that  he 
turned  to  see  if  any  one  else  were  in  sight.  No; 
there  was  no  one  in  the  clearing.  Everything 
was  just  as  it  had  been  before.  ...  Or  stay! 
Was  it  just  the  same,  after  all? 

The  bushes  and  trees  seemed  to  be  clustered 
more  thickly  together  than  when  he  had  broken 
his  way  through  them.  The  branches  seemed 
very  low,  and  very  tightly  interlaced.  How 
many  trees  there  were,  to  be  sure!  And  how 
dark  it  looked  beneath  them ! 

For  some  reason  the  King's  Son  felt  odd  and 
creepy.  He  felt,  in  fact,  as  though  some  one 
had  been  telling  ghost  stories.  Something  was 
wrong.  But  he  had  no  idea  what  it  was,  which 
made  it  much  worse. 

"Look  at  the  Forest!"  gasped  the  Goose  Girl. 
"It  won't  let  me  go!" 

The  King's  Son  started  to  tell  her  that  all 


The    Spell  63 

that  sort  of  thing  was  nonsense,  hut  the  words 
died  on  his  lips.  Before  his  very  eyes  the 
boughs  seemed  to  become  still  more  densely 
interlaced.  A  wild,  sudden  wind  had  risen, 
and  the  grass  was  flattened  and  whitened  under 
it.  A  strange,  moaning  noise  came  from  the 
Enchanted  Wood — a  faint,  shrill  wail  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  sound  of  human  voices. 

On  the  ridge-pole  of  the  Witch's  house  the 
Raven  fluttered  back  and  forth  in  a  frenzy. 
The  Cat  sat  straight  up,  wide  awake  enough 
now,  his  wicked  eyes  blazing. 

"Come  quick!  S-s-s-sss!"  hissed  the  Geese. 
"Something  is  happening!  Gather  around  our 
little  mistress-s-sss ! ' ' 

"My  Geese  know!  My  Geese  understand! 
See,  they  will  not  leave  me!"  cried  the  Goose 
Girl.  "And  look  at  the  Raven!  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do?  I  am  turning  to  stone!" 

"It — it's  some  sort  of  magic  working  on  you," 
stammered  the  King's  Son,  finding  his  throat 
very  dry  and  lumpy,  but  trying  to  speak  care- 
lessly. "We  must  fight  it!  Come  on!  You 
won't  give  in  to  it,  surely,  Goose  Girl?" 


64  Kbnigskinder 

The  little  girl  tried  to  take  a  step  forward, 
and  broke  into  despairing  tears. 

"I  can't!"  she  sobbed.  "The  ground  holds 
on  to  me!  The  earth  is  growing  to  the  soles 
of  my  feet.  I  can't  go!  I  can't  go!" 

The  King's  Son  had  no  experience  with 
Magic.  He  could  see  quite  well  that  the  Goose 
Girl  was  under  some  charm,  but  he  could  not 
actually  feel  it  himself.  So,  being  by  nature 
impatient,  he  began  to  get  rather  cross.  He 
could  not  understand  letting  a  little  thing  like 
a  spell  interfere  with  what  one  really  wanted 
to  do.  Of  course,  said  he  to  himself,  the 
Goose  Girl  could  get  away  from  the  Witch's 
magic  perfectly  well  if  she  only  tried  hard  enough. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  keep  your  promise 
about  running  away?"  he  asked.  "Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  a  few  trees,  and  a  cat, 
and  a  raven  can  keep  you  here  against  your 
will  ?  And  do  you  care  more  for  your  flock  of 
geese  than  you  do  for  me,  and  the  other  mortals 
you  were  going  to  see  out  in  the  world?" 

"I  can't  help  it!"  whispered  the  Goose  Girl. 
"I  can't  help  it.  ...  And  I  am  frightened!" 


The   Spell  65 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  be  frightened!"  ex- 
claimed the  King's  Son,  indignantly.  "And, 
anyway,  it's  shameful  to  be  afraid.  Nice  people 
are  never  afraid!" 

Then,  as  the  Goose  Girl  did  not  answer,  but 
merely  stood  still  and  sobbed  and  trembled, 
he  lost  his  temper  entirely. 

"Run  away,  indeed!"  he  exclaimed,  scorn- 
fully. "You  would  make  a  splendid  runaway! 
You  have  just  about  as  much  spirit  as  one  could 
expect  from  a — peasant  wench!" 

The  little  Goose  Girl  shrank  away  from  him 
when  he  said  that,  for  he  had  hurt  her  very 
much.  She  stopped  crying  and  looked  at  him 
sorrowfully  and  reproachfully. 

"Then  go,  King,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  do  not  think  you  are  a  true  King." 

And  not  another  word  would  she  say. 

Now  the  King's  Son  was  utterly  wretched 
because  of  what  he  had  said.  He  knew  that 
he  had  been  wrong,  and  not  at  all  kingly.  He 
had  spoken  like  a  bad,  rude,  ill-bred  little  boy 
instead  of  a  young  Prince,  and  he  knew  it. 
And,  because  he  felt  ashamed,  he  grew  angrier 


66  Konigskinder 

than  ever.  So  he  went  storming  on,  making 
himself  more  miserable  every  moment. 

"I  should  not  have  tried  to  help  you,  any- 
way!" he  cried.  "Kings  and  beggars  can't  be 
friends;  it  was  silly  to  try  it.  I  gave  you  my 
Crown,  and  I'm  sorry  that  I  did.  But  you 
may  keep  it  to  remind  you  of  me,  for  you'll  not 
see  me  again.  I'm  going  far  away,  farther 
and  faster  than  any  falcon  ever  flew.  And 
you  may  expect  to  see  me  when — when — when 
a  star  falls  out  of  the  sky  into  that  lily 
there." 

And  the  King's  Son  dashed  blindly  into  the 
Enchanted  Forest. 

The  spell  did  not  hinder  him.  Indeed,  as 
soon  as  his  crashing  steps  through  the  under- 
brush had  died  away  the  Raven  ceased  flutter- 
ing, the  wind  grew  calm,  and  the  branches 
seemed  to  straighten  and  dwindle  and  become 
as  usual.  The  Tom  Cat  settled  down  once 
more,  and  the  Goose  Girl  found  that  she  could 
move  about  with  no  further  trouble. 

Only  the  faint,  sighing  sound  still  drifted 
from  the  depths  of  the  Enchanted  Wood,  as 


The   Spell  67 

though   magic   forces   of   some  sort   were    yet 
abroad  and  ready  for  mischief. 

When  the  little  Goose  Girl  realized  that  she 
was  again  alone  she  flung  herself  on  the  grass, 
and  cried  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 
The  King's  Son  had  been  so  gentle  at  first !  He 
had  spoken  to  her  the  first  really  kind  words 
that  she  could  remember  hearing  in  all  her 
fourteen  years.  And  his  stories  had  been  so 
interesting,  even  more  exciting  than  the  won- 
derful dreams  which  the  Dream  Fairies  used 
to  bring  her  at  night  in  her  tiny  room  in  the 
Witch's  Hut.  And  then,  too,  the  thought  of 
getting  away  from  the  Witch  and  the  lonely 
life  in  the  clearing,  the  chance  of  seeing  Mortals, 
and  doing  the  things  that  other  children  did, 
the  hope  of  being  a  little  gay  and  care-free  at 
last — oh!  It  had  all  looked  to  her  so  lovely — 
so  impossibly  beautiful!  Yes!  It  had  been 
impossibly  beautiful !  So  much  happiness  could 
not  be  for  her.  She  could  never  get  away  from 
the  cruel  Witch  and  the  dreary  Hut.  She  must 
stay  here  always  and  mix  magic  cakes  and 
take  care  of  the  Geese. 


68  Kbnigskinder 

So  she  lay  on  the  grass  and  cried,  and  wished 
that  the  King's  Son  had  never  come  to  the 
clearing  at  all.  It  would  not  be  half  so  bad, 
she  thought,  if  she  had  never  had  a  hope  of 
getting  away.  It  was  the  disappointment 
which  made  it  so  dreadfully  hard. 

And  she  was  a  little  disappointed  in  the 
King's  Son,  too,  though  she  was  too  loyal  and 
loving  to  confess  it.  She  remembered  what  he 
had  said  about  her  having  the  spirit  of  a  peas- 
ant wench.  She  knew  that  royal  people  were 
all  supposed  to  be  brave,  and  that  she  was  a 
coward.  But  it  had  seemed  rather  hard  to  be 
told  so. 

"I  wish  that  I  were  a  King's  Child,  too," 
said  the  little  Goose  Girl. 

The  sun  was  low  now.  It  would  soon  be  a 
lovely  summer  evening,  but  the  Goose  Girl 
was  not  in  a  mood  to  appreciate  it.  She  only 
wanted  to  lie  on  the  grass  and  cry. 

Suddenly,  quite  far  off  still,  she  heard  the 
Witch's  voice: 

"Hey!  You  little  brat,  come  and  help  me 
carry  my  basket!" 


The   Spell  69 

The  Goose  Girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  choked 
down  her  sobs,  and  wiped  away  the  tears. 

"It  is  Grandmother  coming  home,"  she  whis- 
pered. "Oh!  She  mustn't  know  anything 
about  it!" 

A  sunbeam  caught  the  golden  Crown  as  it 
lay  in  the  bushes  where  the  King's  Son  had 
flung  it.  It  shone  like  fire. 

The  Goose  Girl  was  in  a  panic.  What  should 
she  do  with  it?  She  did  not  dare  leave  it 
where  it  was,  and  she  could  not  think  of  a  safe 
hiding-place.  The  Witch  had  eagle  eyes,  and 
seemed  to  be  able  to  see  through  the  back  of 
her  head  as  well  as  the  front.  Perhaps  she 
really  could!  And  if  she  ever  did  find  where 
it  was  hidden  she  would  first  beat  the  Goose 
Girl  and  then  steal  the  Crown. 

Already  the  old  hag  was  nearing  the  glade. 
The  girl  could  hear  her  stick  tapping  the  stones 
and  crunching  the  dead  leaves  and  twigs. 
She  kept  up  a  constant  grumbling  and  mutter- 
ing, too. 

The  Goose  Girl  looked  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left.  And  suddenly  an  idea  struck  her. 

6 


jo  Konigskinder 

She  ran  to  the  bushes  and  caught  up  the  Crown ; 
then  she  cried,  "Ksch!  Ksch!"  under  her 
breath,  and  her  Geese  came  flocking. 

Kneeling  down  she  hung  the  Crown  around 
the  neck  of  the  Wise  Gray  Goose. 

"Oh,  Gray  One,  Wise  One!"  she  exclaimed, 
softly.  "Take  this  away  and  keep  it  safe! 
Hide  it,  dear  Gray  Goose,  where  no  hand  can 
find  it.  No  one  must  touch  this  circle  of  gold." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  the  Wise  Gray  Goose, 
very  importantly,  and  she  waddled  away  with 
much  dignity. 

The  other  Geese  hissed  jealously  as  they 
watched  her  carry  the  circlet  off  into  the  dark 
shrubbery.  They  knew  that  the  Gray  Goose 
would  put  on  airs  for  a  month  after  the  great 
compliment  which  their  mistress  had  paid  her. 

"She  may  be  very  wise-wis-s-s-se !  And  she 
may  have  lots-s-s  of  brains-s-s-sss !"  said  they, 
sounding  their  S's  angrily.  "But  our  Mis-s- 
stress-ss  might  jus-s-st  as-s  well  have  trus-s-s- 
sted  us-s-s-sss!" 

The  Wise  Gray  Goose  had  no  sooner  disap- 
peared from  sight  than  the  Witch  came  hob- 


The   Spell  71 

bling  out  of  the  dark  wood.  She  had  had  fine 
sport,  and  her  big  basket  was  well  filled,  so  she 
should  have  been  in  good  spirits.  But  she  was 
annoyed  with  the  Goose  Girl  for  not  running 
to  meet  her.  She  had  counted  on  making  her 
carry  the  heavy  basket  over  the  last  and  rough- 
est bit  of  the  path  up  from  the  Black  Marsh. 

She  came  into  the  clearing  and  slammed 
down  the  basket  mumbling  threats  of  punish- 
ment. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  she  de- 
manded, sharply.  "Didn't  you  hear  me  call 
you?" 

Then,  even  in  the  fading  light,  she  saw  that 
the  Goose  Girl  did  not  look  quite  the  same  as 
usual. 

"Why  are  you  holding  your  hand  to  your 
forehead?"  said  the  Witch,  peering  at  her  keen- 
ly under  bushy,  scowling  brows.  "Slave  that 
you  are!"  she  grunted.  "What's  the  matter 
with  you,  anyway?  Eh?" 

The  Goose  Girl  did  not  speak. 

"Why  are  your  cheeks  so  pale?"  asked  the 
Witch,  corning  closer  to  her. 


72  Konigskinder 

The  Goose  Girl  had  always  hated  the  very 
idea  of  lying;  but  she  was  afraid  that  if  she 
told  the  truth  now  the  Witch  might  harm  the 
King's  Son  in  some  way.  So  she  answered,  in 
very  faltering  tones: 

"I — I  have  just  bathed  them — in — in  the 
cool  water — 

"Fool!     That  does  not  make  you  pale!" 

The  Witch  was  now  near  enough  to  see  the 
tear-stains  on  the  Goose  Girl's  face. 

"What  has  made  your  eyes  and  mouth  so 
red?"  she  demanded. 

"I've  been  eating — red — berries!"  said  the 
poor  little  Goose  Girl. 

"And  putting  them  in  your  eyes?  Lying 
idiot!" 

The  Witch  caught  hold  of  the  Goose  Girl's 
shoulder  and  put  her  ear  down  against  her 
breast. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  heart?"  she 
growled.  "Pounding  one  moment,  and  then 
stopping  altogether!" 

The  Goose  Girl  stood  trembling  and  silent 
for  a  second;  then  she  could  bear  it  no  longer. 


The   Spell  73 

"Grandmother  —  Grandmother!"  she  cried. 
"It  is — I  have  seen  a  Mortal." 

The  Witch  gave  her  a  quick  push,  and  then 
stood  back  to  glare  at  her. 

"A  Mortal!  Here!  Are  you  mad?  Have 
you  been  asleep  and  dreaming?" 

The  Goose  Girl  shook  her  head  dumbly.  The 
Witch  saw  that  something  important  must 
indeed  have  happened.  Some  one — a  human 
being — must  have  been  in  the  clearing,  impos- 
sible as  it  sounded. 

"A  Mortal!"  she  repeated.  "Where  did  he 
come  from?  By  what  path?  Was  he  from 
the  Valley?  From  Hellabrunn?" 

"No,"  said  the  Goose  Girl.  "He  came  over 
the  Wonderful  Mountains." 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  Witch.  "No  Mortal 
ever  crossed  them  yet.  But  wherever  he  came 
from,  you'll  see  him  no  more.  That  I  can  tell 
you!" 

The  Goose  Girl  drooped  her  head.  She  knew 
that  well  enough  already. 

"If  any  other  stupid  knaves  of  Mortals  come 
blundering  this  way,"  went  on  the  Witch, 


74  Konigskinder 

getting  crosscr  every  minute,  "I'll  keep  you 
locked  up  in  your  bedroom — that  I  will!  And 
if  you  dare  to  peep  -  — !" 

She  shook  her  stick  at  the  little  maid. 

"Grandmother!"  cried  the  Goose  Girl,  plead- 
ingly. "I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer!  Truly 
I  can't!  Let  me  go — please,  Grandmother,  let 
me  go!  I  shall  die  if  I  stay!" 

"So  that's  it!"  said  the  Witch,  in  a  towering 
fury.  ' '  Running  away,  eh  ?  Getting  some  in- 
terfering rogue  of  a  Mortal  to  help  you  slip  out 
of  my  power?  Only  wait!  I'll  take  double 
and  triple  care  of  you  after  this.  Run  away, 
•would  you?  You  little  brat,  I'll  see  that  you 
never  leave  the  Enchanted  Wood!" 

The  Yellow  Cat  blinked  his  evil  eyes  and  the 
Raven  lifted  his  clipped  wings  and  croaked — 
just  to  show  that  they  were  both  on  the  Witch's 
side.  Only  the  Geese  cackled  sadly  together. 
They  loved  the  little  Goose  Girl,  and  did  not 
like  to  see  her  unhappy. 

"I'll  give  you  a  beating  for  this!"  screamed 
the  old  hag,  shaking  with  anger.  "You  idle, 
disobedient,  ungrateful — " 


THE    WITCH    DROPPED    HER    STICK,    FROWNING 


The   Spell  75 

"Oh,  Grandmother!"  cried  the  little  Goose 
Girl,  with  a  sob. 

The  Witch  raised  her  stick  above  her  head. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  to  listen. 

A  man  was  singing  somewhere  in  the  wood. 

The  Goose  Girl's  heart  leaped  joyfully.  Could 
it  be  the  King's  Son  coming  back  after  all? 
No;  this  was  not  a  boy's  voice,  but  a  man's — 
a  strong,  full,  deep  voice — that  boomed  and 
echoed  like  a  splendid,  big  bell. 

The  Witch  dropped  her  stick,  frowning. 

And  this  was  the  exceedingly  queer  song  that 
he  sang: 

"Three  madmen  sallied  forth 

To  hunt  for  Chanticler's  egg! 
One  was  deaf,  another  was  blind, 
And  the  third  had  only  one  leg! 

Hey!     Ho!     Heigh! 
How  fine  it  is  to  be  wise,  say  I, 
And  to  hunt  for  Chanticler's  egg! 
Heigh!     Heigh! 
Folderol-di! 
Let's  hunt  for  Chanticler's  egg!" 

THE    SONG    IN    THE    WOOD 


'  'Three  madmen  sallied  forth,  To  hunt  for  Chanticler's  egg 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    MORTALS    IN   THE   WOOD 

WHEN    THE    MORTALS    CAME   TO    THE    CLEARING 

X 


9 


--*-*>-*- 


•>? 


As  the  song  died  away  among  the  trees  the 
Witch  stamped  her  foot  and  wrathfully  whacked 
the  ground  with  her  stick. 

"More  Mortals  in  the  wood!"  she  snarled. 
"The  Enchanted  Forest  might  as  well  be  the 
grounds  of  a  County  Fair!  A  plague  on  every 
bone  in  their  bodies.  I  wish  the  whole  lot  of 
them  were  stewing  in  my  big  pot!  Gr-r-rr!" 

She  actually  growled  with  rage  and  disgust. 

"Here!''  she  snapped,  seizing  her  basket  and 
giving  it  to  the  Goose  Girl.  "Take  that  and 


The  Mortals   in  the  Wood        77 

get  inside.  Shut  and  bolt  the  door.  Those 
hateful  Mortal  People!  May  they  all  choke!" 

Snorting  and  grumbling,  she  pushed  the 
Goose  Girl  before  her,  and  they  entered  the 
Hut.  The  door  was  soon  carefully  fastened, 
and  no  one  was  left  in  the  clearing  but  the 
Cat,  the  Raven,  and  the  Geese. 

The  Witch's  shutters  were  tightly  closed. 
There  was  no  more  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney.  One  would  have  said  that  not  a 
soul  lived  there. 

The  Geese  wandered  off  into  the  thickets, 
and  the  Cat  and  the  Raven  were  quiet  on  the 
roof. 

Suddenly  into  the  clearing  walked  three  peo- 
ple— three  live,  healthy,  mortal  men. 

And  now  we  must  go  back  a  little  so  that 
you  may  understand  clearly  who  the  three 
men  were. 

The  Hella  country,  of  which  the  town  of 
Hellabrunn  was  the  Capital,  had  been  for  many 
years  without  a  King.  The  old  monarch  who 
had  ruled  over  it  long  before  had  been  an  ex- 
tremely wise  and  good  man,  but  very  strict. 


78  Kb'nigskinder 

He  had  made  many  excellent  laws,  and  severe- 
ly punished  any  one  who  broke  them.  So, 
though  he  was  much  respected  and  did  a  great 
deal  for  the  Kingdom,  the  people  got  rather 
tired  of  his  reign. 

When  he  died  the  burghers  of  Hellabrunn 
did  not  feel  very  anxious  to  have  a  new  King 
immediately.  It  really  did  not  seem  necessary. 

They  had  a  splendid  board  of  Town  Coun- 
cilors, who  were  entirely  able  to  take  care  of 
the  people's  interests.  The  burghers  were  law- 
keeping  citizens,  and  their  country  was  at  peace 
with  others  lands.  They  had  plenty  of  money, 
and  really  needed  nothing  which  a  King  could 
give  them. 

So,  for  a  long  time,  Hellabrunn  was  "a  law 
unto  itself,"  as  the  saying  is.  They  grew  grain, 
and  plied  their  trades,  and  coined  gold.  All 
the  City  cellars  were  stocked  with  corn,  and 
red  wine,  and  all  sorts  of  good  things.  There 
were  no  beggars,  and  even  quite  common  folk 
dressed  in  fine  clothes.  It  was  all  very  pros- 
perous and  comfortable. 

But  in  time  the  people  began  to  feel  that 


The   Mortals  in   the   Wood         79 

they  would  like  to  have  a  King  after  all.  Small 
quarrels  and  jealousies  arose,  and  some  one 
was  needed  to  set  things  right.  Strangers  told 
them  that  it  was  silly  and  unfashionable  to 
have  an  empty  Throne.  Then,  too,  without  a 
King  they  could  not  have  a  Court,  and  the 
burghers'  wives  and  daughters  thought  it  would 
be  nice  to  be  presented  at  Court. 

Rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  the  people 
began  to  be  discontented.  Hellabrunn  wanted 
a  King,  and  did  not  know  where  to  look  for  one. 

A  meeting  of  the  Town  Council  was  called, 
and  every  one  agreed  that  a  ruler  must  be  had. 
They  had  no  idea  of  giving  up  their  own  way, 
of  course!  They  only  wanted  their  King  as 
a  sort  of  luxury.  They  thought  it  would  be 
convenient  and  pleasant  to  have  him  do  kind 
things  for  them.  They  had  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  obeying  his  commands  if  they  did 
-not  happen  to  like  them.  You  see,  they  did 
not  want  a  real  King,  after  all. 

But  they  thought  they  did.  And  they  de- 
cided to  send  to  their  neighbor,  the  Witch,  and 
ask  her  advice. 


80  Konigskinder 

They  picked  out  three  messengers  to  repre- 
sent the  people  of  Hellabrunn,  and  promised 
them  many  gold-pieces  if  they  returned  safe 
and  successful  from  their  journey.  These  three 
men  were  sent  clambering  up  the  rocky  moun- 
tainside, through  the  dangers  of  the  Enchanted 
Forest,  to  visit  the  Wise  Woman  of  the  Wood. 
They  were  to  ask  for  a  prophecy  as  to  who 
should  be  the  future  King  of  the  Hella  Kingdom. 

One  of  the  three  was  a  Wood-cutter,  a  sly, 
greedy,  and  cruel  man.  One  was  a  Broom- 
maker,  who  was  silly  and  timid,  and  as  cold- 
hearted  as  a  fish.  And  the  third  was  a  Fiddler. 

The  Fiddler  was  a  wonderful  person.  He 
was  a  strolling  singer  and  player,  a  sort  of 
jongleur.  You  know,  the  wandering  musicians 
of  the  olden  days  were  called  troubadours  and 
jongleurs.  The  troubadours  were  those  who 
went  from  one  Court  to  another  amusing  the 
great  lords  and  ladies;  the  jongleurs  were 
simpler  folk,  who  tramped  along  the  highroads, 
played  for  the  village  dances,  and  sang  songs 
for  the  peasants  and  the  townspeople. 

Our  Fiddler  carried  his  queer  old  violin,  or 


The  Mortals  in  the  Wood         81 

gigue,  as  they  called  it,  wherever  he  went.  He 
played  and  danced  and  made  strange  little 
songs  and  stories  to  amuse  himself  and  other 
people;  and  he  was  loved  by  every  child  in 
Hellabrunn.  He  was  generous  and  gay,  and 
kind,  and  good,  and  so  much  nicer  than  most 
of  the  grown-up  folk  in  the  Town  that  they  did 
not  like  him  much.  But  the  young  people 
thought  him  a  dear  and  charming  person — as 
he  was! 

And  when  he  came  fiddling  down  the  quaint 
little  old  streets  in  the  sunshine  the  children 
would  rush  out  of  the  houses  by  the  dozen,  and 
go  dancing  with  him  wherever  he  went.  They 
called  him  "Our  Fiddler,"  and  loved  him  dear- 
ly, and  he  loved  them  just  as  well,  and  was 
never  tired  of  making  little  tunes  for  them, 
and  little  tales,  and  little  songs.  And  he  could 
make  big  songs,  too — strange,  beautiful  melo- 
dies and  wonderful  words  that  made  one  cry 
to  hear.  But  these  songs  he  sang  and  played 
very  seldom,  and  almost  always  when  he  was 
alone.  A  faint,  ghostly  air  would  float  through 
the  darkened  streets  at  night,  and  some  one, 


82  Konigskinder 

chancing  to  hear,  would  whisper,  "It  is  the 
Fiddler  playing  to  himself  under  the  stars." 

The  Broom-maker  had  thirteen  children,  and 
every  one  of  them  adored  the  Fiddler,  and 
would  follow  him  everywhere. 

On  the  long,  difficult  journey  to  the  Witch's 
Hut  it  was  the  Fiddler  who  led  the  way, 
springing  over  stones  and  fallen  logs  in  the 
merriest  manner  possible,  and  singing  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  to  keep  up  the  courage  of  the 
others.  The  Broom-maker  and  the  Wood- 
cutter were  cowards,  and  as  soon  as  they  found 
themselves  in  the  dreaded  Forest  they  became 
so  nervous  that  they  could  hardly  keep  their 
feet.  And  the  mischievous  Wood  played  tricks 
on  them,  for  spirits  of  magic  hate  people  who 
are  afraid,  and  so  they  found  twice  as  many 
difficulties  as  the  Fiddler. 

"Come!"  he  would  cry.  "Here  is  smooth 
going  at  last!" 

And  his  long  legs  would  stride  over  the 
ground  with  no  trouble  at  all.  But  by  the 
time  that  the  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom- 
maker  had  caught  up  with  him  a  bothersome 


The   Mortals   in   the   Wood         83 

stump  would  have  planted  itself  in  front  of 
them,  or  a  sly  rock  would  have  fallen  directly 
in  their  path.  And  they  saw,  or  fancied  they 
saw,  several  mysterious  shapes  disappearing 
among  the  trees,  and  heard  strange  and  terrify- 
ing noises. 

If  the  Fiddler  saw  or  heard  anything  unusual 
or  different  from  what  one  meets  in  an  ordi- 
nary forest  we  may  be  sure  that  it  was  not  some- 
thing dreadful,  but  something  pleasant — a  lit- 
tle elf,  perhaps,  nodding  from  the  bell  of  a 
columbine;  or  a  pretty  princess  riding  through 
a  green  grove.  Of  course,  one  could  not 
wander  through  an  Enchanted  Forest  all  a 
summer  afternoon  without  rinding  a  few  sur- 
prises. But  if  one  is  the  Fairies'  friend  one 
need  have  nothing  to  fear.  The  right  kind  of 
elves  like  the  right  kind  of  mortals,  and  delight 
in  giving  them  charming  glimpses  of  them- 
selves and  their  doings. 

So,  while  the  Broom-maker  and  the  Wood- 
cutter were  shivering  and  stumbling  among  all 
sorts  of  goblin-like  trees  and  paths  that  seemed 
to  wriggle  as  though  they  were  live  things,  the 


84  Konigskinder 

Fiddler  was  having  a  delightful  time.  Who 
knows  how  many  of  the  Wood  People  compli- 
mented his  singing  as  he  strode  along  ? 

"Heigh!     Heigh! 

Folderol-di! 
We'll  hunt  for  Chanticler's  egg!" 

sang  he.  And  with  that  they  found  them- 
selves out  of  the  thick,  crowding  trees  at  last, 
and  able  to  look  about  them  and  take  breath. 

"There,  Brother  Wood-cutter  and  Brother 
Broom-maker!"  said  the  Fiddler,  with  a  wave 
of  his  gigue,  which  he  carried  in  his  hand. 
"Here  we  are  at  our  journey's  end.  Behold 
it!"  He  pointed  to  the  miserable,  silent  little 
Hut.  "There  it  stands — the  grand,  imposing, 
magnificent  Castle  of  the  Witch!" 

He  broke  into  hearty  laughter. 

"I  wish  she  would  poison  herself  with  her 
own  weeds!"  grumbled  the  Wood-cutter,  rub- 
bing his  shins.  "I've  never  seen  such  a  path — 
sharp  stones,  and  gnarled  roots,  and  hardly 
space  to  stand  upright!" 

"Dear  brother,"  said  the  Broom-maker,  tim- 
idly, "don't  speak  so  loud." 


The  Mortals  in  the  Wood         85 

He  glanced  fearfully  at  the  Hut.  He  was 
terribly  afraid  of  the  Witch. 

All  three  men  were  clothed  in  the  rough  and 
simple  dress  of  peasants,  but  about  the  Fid- 
ler's  garments  there  seemed  something  odd  and 
graceful,  something  that  nowadays  we  would 
call  picturesque.  In  cut  and  color,  his  jerkin 
and  his  hose,  his  shoes  and  his  loose  sleeves, 
attracted  one's  eyes;  and  his  old  gigue  was 
strangely  and  most  charmingly  shaped.  He 
was  a  very  big  man,  tall  and  broad-shouldered 
and  strong,  with  a  mane  of  brown  hair  and  a 
thick,  brown  beard  streaked  with  gray.  His 
eyes  and  his  voice  were  merry,  and  he  walked 
as  though  he  kept  time  to  a  tune  that  no  one 
but  himself  could  hear. 

"Come  on,  now!"  said  he,  loudly.  "Can't 
you  two  go  ahead  with  your  errand?  Go  on! 
Call  out  the  Witch!" 

"Hush!"  they  both  exclaimed.  As  I  told 
you,  nobody  in  Hellabrunn  (except  the  Fiddler) 
ever  called  her  the  Witch. 

"The  Lady  of  the  Wood,"  corrected  the 
Wood-cutter. 

7 


86  Konigskinder 

"The  Wise  Woman,"  whispered  the  Broom- 
maker. 

"Pouf!"  laughed  the  Fiddler.  "I  call  her 
what  she  is— the  Witch!" 

' '  Please  do  be  quiet , ' '  begged  the  B room-maker. 

He  tiptoed  up  to  the  Hut,  trembling  in  every 
limb,  and  knocked  gently  on  the  door. 

There  was  no  answer,  not  a  sound  from 
within.  He  did  not  know  what  to  do  next, 
and,  in  his  nervousness,  all  he  could  think  of 
was  his  regular  speech  which  he  made  to  the 
housewives  of  Hellabrunn  when  he  went  from 
door  to  door  to  sell  his  wares. 

"Good wife,"  said  he,  "do  you  need  a  broom  ?" 

The  Fiddler  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  in 
which  even  the  Wood-cutter  wanted  to  join. 
Every  one  knows  that  broom-sticks  are  what 
the  Witches  go  riding  on  in  the  wee  small  hours 
of  a  stormy  night. 

"Clever  fellow !"  said  the  Fiddler.  "Maybe 
she'll  buy  out  all  your  stock  of  brooms,  and 
give  a  riding-party  to  her  friends." 

The  Broom-maker  was  sulky,  and  would  say 
no  more. 


The   Mortals  in  the  Wood         87 

The  Wood-cutter  now  took  his  turn.  Pie 
walked  to  the  door  with  a  great  show  of  bold- 
ness, rapped  smartly,  and  called: 

"Honored  and  worthy  Madam!" 

But  there  was  not  a  sound  in  reply.  Not  so 
much  as  a  rustle  or  a  breath  came  from  inside 
the  Hut.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that  so  much 
as  a  mouse  lived  there. 

"Is  there  no  one  in  the  house?"  cried  the 
Wood-cutter,  still  very  brave. 

Again  they  listened;  and  again  they  could 
hear  nothing.  There  was  not  a  stir,  it  seemed, 
in  the  whole  silent  Wood;  not  a  cricket,  not 
a  moving  leaf,  not  a  breath  of  wind. 

The  Fiddler  was  growing  restless.  He  knew 
all  about  the  Witch.  And  he  knew  that  she 
was  probably  laughing  at  them  through  the 
keyhole.  He  was  quite  tired  of  the  polite  efforts 
of  the  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker. 

"You  blind  moles!"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"She  is  making  fun  of  you,  that  is  all.  She 
will  not  notice  your  glib  greetings,  and  I  respect 
her  for  it.  Now  for  something  that  will  please 
her  better." 


88 


Konigskinder 


He  strode  to  the  door,  hit  it  a  loud  bang  with 
his  clenched  fist,  and  cried  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs  : 

"Snake-hunter!  Poison-cook!  Witch  of  the 
Wood!  Open!" 

And  open  came  the  door  like  the  lid  of  a 
jack-in-the-box,  and  out  popped  the  Witch. 

And  no  one  in  the  world  was  ever  in  such  a 
rage  as  she. 

TWO  OP  THE  FIDDLER'S  LITTLE  TUNES 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   WITCH'S    PROPHECY 


THE    WITCH  S    PROPHECY   AND   THE   MAGIC    BELLS 


l/fibl  x  x3^ 

,         "To  - 

|S  —  J*    J*    9  g-  —  «  *  —  r-^w*  —  

mor  •  row,  when  mid  -  daj's  clocks   are       slrik  -    ing," 

gffi-  x  x  ^= 

g  ^ 

"jTU 

f  ^ 

' 

"INSOLENT  rabble!"  shrieked  the  Witch. 
"Who  dares  to  mock  me?" 

The  Fiddler  stepped  forward  promptly,  and 
made  her  a  low  bow;  the  others  were  too  fright- 
ened to  stir  or  speak. 

"Lovely  and  bewitching  lady,"  he  began, 
in  his  most  flowery  style,  "behold  your  most 
devoted  slave!  Long  have  we  adored  you — " 


90  Kbnigskinder 

The  Witch  knew  that  he  was  making  fun  of 
her,  and  she  hated  fun. 

"Impudent  fool!"  she  snapped,  her  wicked 
eyes  as  red  as  coals.  "Scatter-brained  knave! 
Worthless,  chicken-hearted,  lying  lout!" 

"Madam,"  said  the  Fiddler,  pretending  to  be 
offended,  but  with  twinkling  eyes,  "I  am  a 
very  brave  gallant,  I'd  have  you  know.  When 
a  man  insults  me  I  always  strike — " 

"His  shadow!"  retorted  the  Witch,  who 
knew  that  a  strolling  player  in  those  days 
was  not  allowed  by  law  to  fight,  but  only  to 
strike  at  the  shadow  of  his  enemy. 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  t<he  Fiddler,  turning 
to  the  others,  "it's  your  turn.  Say  your  say, 
you  two,  since  that's  what  you  came  for.  Wake 
up,  moles,  and  talk!" 

The  Wood-cutter  cleared  his  throat  and  be- 
gan to  speak  with  an  air  of  being  very  much 
at  home.  When  he  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing to  say  he  just  hummed  and  mumbled, 
"H'm,  h'm!" 

"You  must  know,  Lady,"  he  said,  "that 
when — h'm,  h'm — since  ...  in  Hellabrunn 


The  Witch's    Prophecy  91 

Town  .  .  .  h'm,  h'm  .  .  .  there  was  need  of  ... 
h'm,  h'm.  ...  I  was  chosen  because — h'm,  h'm. 
.  .  .  You  see,  when  the  old  King  died — h'm,  h'm 
.  .  .  and  since  I  am  the  best  wood-cutter  for 
miles  around,  I—" 

"Oh,  give  the  second  one  a  chance  to  speak!" 
exclaimed  the  Fiddler.  And  the  Wood-cutter 
stepped  back,  quite  exhausted  from  nervous- 
ness and  mopping  his  forehead. 

The  Broom-maker  determined  to  do  better. 
He  was  very  tremulous  and  frightened,  but  he 
remembered  a  great  many  long  words. 

"Highly  noble  and  exalted  Lady,"  he  began. 
"Wisest  and  most  gracious  Dame.  You  are  far 
above  the  burghers,  and  the  nobles,  too!  You 
are  the  most  supremely  sagacious  and  mar- 
velously  accomplished — " 

"Oh,  be  still,  you  whining  fools!"  cried  the 
Witch,  hoarse  with  fury.  "Say  what  you 
have  to  say,  and  say  it  quickly  and  in  plain 
words,  or  else — well,  look  out  for  a  sudden 
wind  to  blow  your  heads  clean  off!" 

And  they  could  see  that  she  meant  what  she 
said. 


92  Konigskinder 

"There!"  said  the  Fiddler.  "You  see!  I 
told  you  that  my  way  would  suit  her  better! 
"Pis  this  way,  Witch;  but  let  us  have  no  heads 
blown  off,  if  you  please.  No  spells  to-night, 
on  any  account.  Now,  listen  to  my  story." 

And  he  told  her  the  tale  of  Hellabrunn's  at- 
tempt to  get  along  without  a  King.  He  told 
her  of  the  people's  discontent,  which  was  grow- 
ing day  by  day,  in  spite  of  money,  and  com- 
fort, and  the  good  things  of  life.  He  told  her 
that  now  they  were  anxious  to  have  a  Head, 
some  one  to  whom  they  could  look  up,  and  to 
whom  they  could  carry  their  troubles  and  dis- 
putes; some  one  who  would  do  everything 
they  wanted,  and  some  things  that  they  had 
not  sense  enough  to  think  of  for  themselves. 

"Every  one  in  Hellabrunn  has  a  home  and 
a  hearth-fire,"  said  the  Fiddler.  "But  no  one 
has  a  Throne!" 

And  then  he  paused,  for  over  the  Witch's 
shoulder  he  saw  something  which  amazed  him. 
He  saw  one  of  the  tiny  shutters  on  the  Witch's 
Hut  move  slowly,  and  then  gradually  open. 
Then,  in  the  dim  window,  he  saw  the  face  of 


The  Witch's    Prophecy  93 

a  little  girl,  pretty  and  rosy,  with  big  eyes,  and 
golden  curls  falling  under  an  old  red  kerchief. 

The  Fiddler  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes. 
Nobody  in  Hellabrunn  knew  of  the  Goose  Girl. 
They  all  thought  that  the  Witch  lived  alone  on 
the  mountainside.  He  was  so  surprised  that 
for  a  moment  he  could  not  go  on. 

Then,  fearing  that  the  old  hag  would  turn 
and  see  what  he  had  been  looking  at,  he  con- 
tinued, hastily: 

"A  Throne!  That  is  what  the  burghers  of 
Hellabrunn  are  trying  to  build  up,  and  then 
to  fill.  They  are  looking  for  a  master  or  a  mis- 
tress, a  Prince  or  a  Princess,  sprung  from  the 
Blood  Royal,  entitled  to  wear  a  Crown — brave, 
strong,  high-spirited,  true,  noble — a  King's 
Son  or  a  King's  Daughter:  a  Royal  Child. 

As  though  he  were  drawn  in  spite  of  himself, 
he  looked  again  toward  the  little  window  behind 
the  Witch. 

The  first  star  of  the  night  was  glittering  in 
the  pink-flushed  sky.  Perhaps  it  was  one  of  its 
beams  that  fell  upon  the  sweet  face  of  the  little 
Goose  Girl.  Something  seemed  to  shine  there 


94  Kbnigskinder 

as  the  Fiddler  looked.  His  own  words  seemed 
to  echo  again  in  his  brain :  ' '  High-spirited,  true, 
noble — a  King's  Son  or  a  King's  Daughter:  a 
Royal  Child!" 

The  little  Goose  Girl  put  her  finger  on  her 
lips  and  disappeared  from  the  window. 

The  shutter  slowly  closed  again. 

"Well,  Witch!"  said  the  Fiddler,  rousing  him- 
self. "You  have  heard  our  story.  Men  say 
that  you  are  uncommonly  wise,  and  can  see 
things  to  which  we  Mortals  are  blind.  Out  of 
your  store  of  magical  knowledge  tell  us  where 
we  shall  find  our  King,  and  how  we  shall  know 
him  when  we  find  him!" 

The  Witch  was  leaning  on  her  crooked  stick, 
and  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply. 

"Is  he  telling  me  the  truth,  I  wonder?"  she 
muttered. 

Then  she  turned  sharply  to  the  other  two. 

"Are  you  indeed  anxious  to  be  governed?" 
she  asked.  "Are  you  looking  for  a  King?" 

"Yes,"  faltered  the  Broom-maker. 

"We  of  Hellabrunn  are  simple  workmen  and 
tradespeople,"  said  the  Wood-cutter,  speak- 


The   Witch's    Prophecy  95 

ing  with  some  sense,  at  last.  "We  are  used 
to  serve." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Broom-maker  again. 

"You  are  looking  for  a  King!"  repeated  the 
Witch,  musingly,  and  began  to  murmur  to 
herself  under  her  breath. 

"Beware  of  your  King!"  she  said,  suddenly, 
with  a  quick  glance. 

The  Fiddler  was  prowling  about  the  clearing, 
looking  at  the  Hut  from  every  angle,  and  won- 
dering how  he  could  learn  more  about  the  little 
maid  whom  the  Witch  kept  hidden  there.  He 
knew  that  the  child  could  not  be  there  of  her 
own  free  will,  and  the  Fiddler's  heart  always 
went  out  to  any  one  in  difficulties. 

"We  cannot  go  home  to  Hellabrunn  without 
some  message,"  said  the  Wood-cutter. 

"Give  us  a  word  of  counsel!"  pleaded  the 
Broom-maker. 

"Then  make  your  long  ears  yet  longer!"  said 
the  Witch. 

Even  the  Fiddler  drew  near  to  hear'  her 
words.  There  was  something  solemn  and  won- 
derful about  the  old  Witch  just  then.  She 


96  Konigskinder 

seemed  to  grow  taller  and  more  commanding. 
They  felt  that  for  the  moment  she  towered 
above  them. 

It  had  grown  quite  dark.  There  was  no 
more  sunset  in  the  west.  Again  the  strange, 
moaning  echoes  woke  in  the  shadowy  Forest. 
The  Cat's  eyes  gleamed  in  the  dusk. 

To  the  fancy  of  the  men  who  listened,  the 
air  seemed  full  of  the  pealing  of  ghostly  bells 
as  slowly  and  mysteriously  the  Witch  spoke: 

"Hear  now  a  prophecy  not  to  your  liking: 
To-morrow,  when  mid-day's  clocks  are  striking 
And  the  folk  for  the  Feast  are  gathering, 
When  Noon's  twelve  strokes  the  bells  doth  ring, 
The  first  to  enter  the  City's  Gate, 
Even  a  vagrant  in  ragged  state, 

'Tis  he  that  shall  be  your  King!" 

At  the  last  words  the  bells  seemed  to  peal  out 
more  clearly.  .  .  .  Then  the  magic  faded.  The 
Witch  had  ceased  speaking.  The  Prophecy 
was  ended.  There  was  no  sound  in  the  Wood, 
except  the  summer  wind. 

The  next  moment  the  Witch  had  gone  quick- 
ly into  her  Hut  and  slammed  the  door.  The 
three  Mortals  were  left  in  the  little  glade  alone. 


The  Witch's    Prophecy  97 

The  Wood-cutter  was  the  first  to  recover 
himself. 

He  chuckled  and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"Now  for  the  gold-pieces!"  cried  he.  "We 
have  been  successful  in  our  errand.  We  have 
heard  the  Witch's  Prophecy.  Now  all  that  we 
have  to  do  is  to  go  back  to  Hellabrunn  and 
collect  our  payment!" 

"I  suppose  we  must  give  the  Fiddler  a  share 
of  the  gold-pieces,"  complained  the  wretched 
little  Broom-maker,  who  dearly  loved  money. 

"Ho!"  scoffed  the  Wood-cutter,  who  loved 
it  even  better,  and  had  a  more  practical  idea 
of  how  to  keep  it.  "  He  has  no  right  to  a  share ! 
He  had  nothing  to  do  with  it!  The  Witch 
talked  to  us!  Anyway,  we'll  get  rid  of  him 
somehow." 

At  this  point  the  Fiddler  joined  them. 

"And  now  shall  I  tell  you  just  what  you 
have  been  thinking?"  said  he,  mockingly. 
"You  are  both  wishing  that  you  might  see  me 
hanged  to  the  nearest  tree!" 

The  others  looked  so  guilty  that  he  laughed 
aloud. 


98  Konigskinder 

"Go  home!"  he  said,  with  rough  good  nature. 
"You  may  keep  your  gold-pieces  to  yourselves! 
Be  off  with  you!" 

He  cuffed  them  both  soundly,  and  chased 
them  out  of  the  clearing.  It  was  so  dark  that 
they  could  hardly  see  where  they  were  going, 
and  they  stumbled  over  a  dozen  roots  and 
pebbles  and  scratched  themselves  on  many 
brambles.  And  the  Fiddler  strode  along,  and 
drove  them  before  him  as  the  Goose  Girl  would 
drive  her  Geese. 

He  did  not  follow  them.  When  they  were 
out  of  sight,  and  he  could  not  longer  hear  their 
awkward  steps  and  angry  chattering,  he  came 
slowly  back  into  the  clearing. 

His  mind  was  made  up.  He  must  know 
more  concerning  the  little  Girl  who  was  a 
prisoner  there. 

That  sweet  child  in  the  clutches  of  the  hor- 
rible, cruel  Wood  Witch!  His  blood  ran  cold 
at  the  thought  of  it.  He  was  sure  that  he  had 
seen  a  request  in  the  little  maiden's  eager  face. 
It  was  plain  that  she  had  tried  her  best  to  ask 
him  to  help  her. 


The   Witch's    Prophecy  99 

Of  course  she  had  trusted  him.  Children 
always  knew  that  they  could  trust  the  Fiddler. 
And  he  said  to  himself  that  he  would  not  leave 
the  clearing  until  he  was  satisfied  that  all  was 
well  with  her. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  the  children  of 
Hellabrunn  loved  him  and  called  him  "Our 
Fiddler?" 

The  crescent  moon,  small  and  silver-white, 
peeped  down  over  the  black  tree- tops.  It  was 
a  real  little  witch-moon.  The  Fiddler  thought 
that  he  would  like  to  make  a  song  about  it. 
There  were  stars,  too,  sprinkled  over  the  sky. 
Distant  owls  hooted,  and  bats  and  moths  flew 
silently  past.  Night  in  the  Enchanted  Forest 
had  begun. 

At  this  hour  all  the  sprites  and  goblins  of  the 
Magic  World  awakened  and  prepared  for  their 
merrymaking.  At  this  hour  every  charm  and 
spell  in  the  world  increased  in  power  a  hundred- 
fold. In  this  hour,  as  the  Fiddler  knew  well, 
Witchcraft  reigned,  and  Mortals  were  the  sport 
of  the  Unreal  World.  He  felt  quite  excited  as 
he  gazed  at  the  locked  door  and  shuttered  win- 


ioo  Konigskinder 

dows  of  the  Hut!  A  Witch's  house,  in  a  Magic 
Wood!  Who  could  tell  what  might  happen 
there  ? 

He  folded  his  arms  and  deliberately  paced 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  shanty. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

At  last,  very  stealthily  and  softly,  one  of  the 
shutters  opened.  The  Witch  looked  out. 

The  Fiddler  stopped  at  once  and  faced  her, 
waiting  to  see  what  she  would  say  to  him. 

She  peered  at  him  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Then  she  said,  harshly: 

"Why  aren't  you  on  your  way  home  with 
your  friends  ?  What  are  you  staying  here  for  ?" 

The  Fiddler  walked  quite  close  to  the  win- 
dow, and  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"I  am  setting  a  snare,"  said  he.  "I  want 
to  catch  a  bird — a  golden  bird  which  I  saw  in 
this  neighborhood." 

The  Witch  gave  a  start,  and  stared  at  him, 
frowning  and  glaring.  She  knew  at  once  that 
in  some  way  he  must  have  seen  or  heard  of 
the  Goose  Girl. 

The  Fiddler  smiled. 


The  Witch's   Prophecy  i  o  i 

"Let  out  the  golden  bird,  Lady  Witch,"  said 
he,  "or  I'll  come  and  get  it  myself!" 


When  the  Fiddler  sees  the  Goose  Girl  at  the  win- 
dow there  are  three  melodies  all  at  once:  the  treble 
is  one  of  the  Goose  Girl's  airs;  the  bass  is  the  Fid- 
dler's favorite  little  tune;  and  in  between  is  a  tiny 
scrap  of  the  music  of  Kings  and  Queens,  because 
the  Fiddler  was  thinking  of  a  throne  when  he  saw 
the  little  maid. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    GOOSE    GIRL'S    STAR 

THE    SONG  THE  WITCH    SANG   TO   THE   GOOSE   GIRL 

3«r=r* 


i 


1 


$J£b-*=3=~: * * • *=S^        J , 

"Dis-grace,  and  mur-der,  and  black    alarms:  These 


are     your   pa  -  rents'  be-  quests     to    you ! 

THE  Witch  saw  there  was  no  use  in  pretend- 
ing that  she  did  not  understand  the  Fiddler. 
People  did  not  pretend  much  with  the  Fiddler. 
She  knew  well  that  he  was  a  strong,  deter- 
mined man,  with  as  much  power  for  good  as 
she  had  power  for  evil.  He  was  brave  and 
honest,  and  courage  and  truth  are  the  two 
things  hardest  for  Witchcraft  to  overcome. 

So  she  glared  at  him  from  under  her  shaggy 
eyebrows  for  a  moment,  and  then  withdrew 
her  head  without  a  word. 


The  Goose  Girl's    Star          103 

The  Fiddler  laughed  aloud  with  satisfaction, 
and  began  to  sing  to  himself  in  the  cheerfulest 
way  possible: 

"Heigh!     Heigh! 

Folderol-di ! 
So  find  we  Chanticler's  egg!" 

And  he  danced  a  little  step  in  time  to  the  tune 
he  was  singing. 

The  Witch  thought  that  she  might  be  able 
to  satisfy  this  interfering,  bungling  Mortal  with- 
out really  letting  the  Goose  Girl  go.  She  knew 
that  the  little  girl  was  timid,  and  she  felt  fairly 
sure  that  she  would  never  dare  to  defy  her. 
So  she  hoped  to  show  her  prisoner  to  the  Fid- 
dler, convince  him  that  the  child  was  her  own 
granddaughter  and  her  own  to  bring  up  as 
she  chose,  and  send  him  about  his  business. 

By  the  light  of  the  crescent  moon  the  door  of 
the  Hut  opened,  and  out  stepped  the  Witch 
with  the  Goose  Girl.  The  old«dame  was  push- 
ing the  little  maid  before  her,  and  pretending  to 
be  very  kind  and  encouraging  to  her,  but  all 
the  time  she  was  kicking  her,  and  poking  her, 
and  pinching  her  arms  and  shoulders. 


104  Konigskinder 

"Come,  dear  little  daughter,  and  don't  be 
afraid!"  said  the  Witch,  sweetly.  But  under 
her  breath  she  muttered:  "You  brat!  I  be- 
lieve you  peeped  through  the  window  after  all! 
Just  wait  a  bit!"  And  she  gave  her  a  hard 
dig  in  her  side. 

The  Goose  Girl  trembled.  She  knew  quite 
well  what  the  Witch  meant;  she  had  been 
beaten  too  often  not  to  understand. 

The  Fiddler  looked  pityingly  and  kindly  at 
the  little  girl.  He  thought  that  she  was  the 
sweetest  and  loveliest  child  that  he  had  ever 
seen,  and  he  was  so  sorry  for  her  that  he  could 
hardly  help  his  eyes  filling  up  with  tears.  The 
Goose  Girl  stood  before  him  with  drooping 
head.  The  Fiddler  took  a  step  forward. 

"Speak  to  me!"  he  said,  very  gently. 

The  Goose  Girl  could  not  find  her  voice. 
She  stood  there  dumb  and  frightened.  Yet 
with  all  her  helplessness  and  sadness,  there 
was  something  so  fair  and  graceful  about  her 
that  the  Fiddler  thought:  "That  little  maid 
has  good  blood.  She  would  look  well  in  a 
crown." 


The  Goose  Girl's    Star  105 

As  the  Goose  Girl  did  not  say  anything,  the 
Witch  slapped  her  angrily. 

"Speak  when  you're  spoken  to!"  she  scolded. 

The  little  girl  lifted  her  eyes  piteously  to  the 
Fiddler's,  but  was  silent. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked,  kindly. 

"I — I  am  the  Goose  Girl,"  she  said,  simply. 

The  Fiddler  looked  at  her  closely. 

"And  you  live  in  a  Witch's  house!"  he  said, 
smiling  in  his  delightful,  friendly  fashion. 
"How  do  you  happen  to  be  here?" 

She  did  not  answer,  so  he  added:  "Who 
are  your  father  and  mother?" 

"I  haven't  any,"  said  she.  "I  have  no  one 
but  Grandmother." 

"No  one  but  your  Grandmother!"  he  re- 
peated, trying  to  encourage  her  to  talk.  "And 
who  may  your  Grandmother  be?" 

The  little  Goose  Girl's  eyes  were  wide  with 
surprise. 

"Why,  here  she  is!"  she  replied.  "There— 
beside  me!" 

The  Fiddler  stared  at  her  with  open  mouth. 

1 '  The  Witch  ?' '  he  said.  "  Your  Grandmother  ?" 


106  Konigskinder 

And  with  that  he  roared  with  laughter.  It 
was  such  hearty,  musical,  rumbling  laughter 
it  seemed  to  clear  the  air  like  a  good,  brisk 
thunder-storm.  The  little  Goose  Girl  loved 
him  from  that  minute. 

And  oh !  The  rage  and  disgust  of  the  Witch 
when  she  heard  him  laugh  like  that!  She  was 
so  offended  that  she  seemed  to  bristle,  and  her 
eyes  snapped  like  firecrackers. 

The  next  moment,  however,  the  Fiddler 
stopped  laughing.  He  was  beginning  to  feel 
more  indignant  than  amused. 

"So  that's  the  way  she  holds  you!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "You  are  free,  yet  she  keeps  you  a 
prisoner,  and  says  you  are  her  grandchild! 
What  nonsense!  But  you  sha'n't  be  kept  here 
against 'your  will  much  longer!  You  may 
trust  me  for  that,  my  child!" 

The  Goose  Girl  began  to  cry,  softly  but  hope- 
lessly. And  before  she  knew  it  she  had  for- 
gotten her  shyness,  and  was  pouring  out  her 
troubles  to  the  kind  Fiddler  between  her 
sobs. 

"I  cannot  get  away!"  she  whispered,  broken- 


The  Goose   Girl's    Star          107 

ly.  "Her  spells  hold  me.  I  know  that  I  shall 
never  be  free!" 

Her  tears  fell  faster.  "I  am  very  silly;  I 
can  do  nothing  but  cry.  But  there  is  nothing 
to  hope  for." 

She  looked  appealingly  at  the  Fiddler's  sym- 
pathetic face.  "The  King's  Son" — she  fal- 
tered, with  many  hesitations—  "the  King's 
Son — went  by — " 

The  Fiddler  started.  Was  it  possible  that 
the  Goose  Girl  was  going  to  show  him  how  to 
find  a  King  for  Hella?  Would  the  tidings  of 
the  Witch  and  the  child  both  point  to  the  same 
person  ? 

"He  wanted  me  to  go  with  him,"  continued 
the  Goose  Girl.  "But,  you  see,  I  could  not 
go!  I  never  can." 

"But  this  is  very  wonderful!"  exclaimed  the 
Fiddler.  "The  King's  Son,  you  say.  Have 
you  really  seen  some  one  who  called  himself 
a  King's  Son?" 

The  Goose  Girl  nodded.  The  Witch  was 
listening  intently. 

"Indeed, 'my  child,"  went  on  the  Fiddler, 


io8  Kbnigskinder 

eagerly,  "if  you  have  seen  a  King's  Son  you 
must  help  us  to  find  him.  The  people  of  the 
Valley  are  waiting  for  a  King.  They  will 
Crown  the  Prince  you  saw,  and  he  shall  rule 
over  them.  What  did  your  King's  Son  say  he 
was  going  to  do?" 

The  little  Goose  Girl  looked  bewildered. 

"He  said — he  said  that  some  day  we  would 
be  married,"  she  declared,  timidly. 

"Then,"  said  the  Fiddler,  smiling,  "you  will 
wear  a  Crown,  too!  Come,  let  us  be  off  together 
to  find  him  for  Hellabrunn  and  the  Kingdom!" 

But  just  then  the  Witch  laughed.  It  was 
not  happy,  kindly  laughter,  like  the  Fiddler's. 
It  was  hard  and  cruel,  like  crackling  fire.  She 
was  in  a  particularly  fierce  mood,  and,  as  she 
was  best  pleased  when  she  was  hurting  people, 
she  laughed. 

"The  King's  Son  and  the  Goose  Girl!" 
chuckled  she,  wickedly.  "The  King's  Son  and 
the  Goose  Girl!  So  that's  the  Fiddler's  idea, 
eh  ?"  She  peered  up  at  him,  and  laughed  again. 
"Dear  me!  What  interesting  ideas  he  has,  to 
be  sure!  They  say  he  makes  them  into  songs. 


The  Goose  Girl's   Star          109 

Perhaps  he  will  make  a  song  about  the  future 
wedding  of  the  King's  Son  and  the  Goose 
Girl!  But  I  tell  you" — and  suddenly  she 
stopped  laughing  as  she  turned  to  the  Goose 
Girl — "I  tell  you — your  wedding-dress  and 
your  shroud  will  be  one  and  the  same  robe!" 

The  stars  seemed  very  bright  and  the  night 
very  clear  and  still.  The  Enchanted  Forest 
held  its  breath.  It  was  waiting  for  something; 
who  could  say  what  it  was  ? 

"I  myself  will  sing  you  a  song,  Sir  Fiddler," 
said  the  Witch.  "I  make  you  a  gift  of  it,  and 
it's  worth  more  than  yours,  for  it  happens  to  be 
true.  It  is  the  Song  of  the  Goose  Girl's  In- 
heritance!" 

She  smiled  slowly  and  sourly;  you  could 
just  see  her  face  crinkle  up  in  the  dim  light, 
and  grow  even  uglier  than  usual,  if  that  were 
possible.  Then  she  began  to  croon  this  strange 
song: 

"Your  father,  he  was  tried  for  slaughter, 
Condemned  and  hanged  one  dawning; 
And  your  mother,  she  was  the  Hangman's  daughter, 
With  ringlets  as  red  as  the  morning! 


iio  Konigskinder 

"  She  cared  no  whit  that  his  hands  were  stained, 
She  wedded  him  there,  in  the  dungeon  chained; 

And  at  sunrise  red 
The  bridegroom  was  hanging — dead! 

"  Disgrace  and  murder  and  black  alarms, 

These  are  your  parents'  bequests  to  you! 
The  Hangman's  noose  is  your  coat  of  arms; 
Now — let  the  King's  Son  woo!" 

The  Goose  Girl  listened  to  her  with  horror. 
She  had  been  brought  up,  of  course,  without 
any  knowledge  of  her  parents,  believing  her- 
self to  be  the  daughter  of  the  Witch's  child. 
But  in  her  heart  she  had  always  hoped  that 
either  her  father  or  her  mother  had  had  gentle 
blood,  and  had  been  noble  and  fine-natured. 
You  see,  the  little  Goose  Girl  had  always  been 
a  child  of  dreams,  and  her  whole  life  had  been 
spent  in  "making  believe"  about  herself. 

So  when  she  heard  the  Witch's  story,  and 
knew  that  her  father  had  been  a  murderer,  and 
her  mother  the  daughter  of  the  common  Hang- 
man, her  heart  was  nearly  broken.  She  did 
not  weep ;  her  sorrow  and  disappointment  were 
too  great  for  tears.  But  she  clasped  her  hands 


The  Goose   Girl's    Star          1 1 1 

with  a  cry  which  deeply  touched  the  gentle 
Fiddler. 

"Father!  Mother!"  she  wailed,  and  hid  her 
face. 

But  the  Fiddler  knew  a  way  to  comfort  her. 

It  happened,  by  a  strange  chance,  that  he 
had  known  the  Hangman  and  his  red-haired 
daughter  many  years  before.  And  he  knew 
all  the  circumstances  of  the  death  of  the  Goose 
Girl's  father.  It  was  true  that  he  had  killed 
a  man,  but  the  man  he  had  killed  was  a  wicked 
nobleman,  horribly  cruel  to  every  one  beneath 
him.  It  was  a  long  story,  far  too  long  to  tell 
here,  but  the  young  man  who  killed  the  noble 
was  kind-hearted  and  good,  and  he  would  not 
have  been  so  terribly  punished  if  the  dead  man 
had  not  been  so  very  great  and  rich.  But  the 
other  nobles  wished  to  avenge  their  class  and 
to  frighten  the  common  folk,  and  so  the  young 
man  was  hanged. 

And  afterward  the  Goose  Girl's  poor,  young, 
red-haired  mother  died,  too,  leaving  her  tiny 
baby  girl  all  alone.  Then  the  Witch  came 
along  and  carried  the  child  off  to  her  Hut. 


112  Kbnigskinder 

The  Fiddler  had  forgotten  all  about  the  little 
girl  until  now,  but  he  remembered  her  parents 
well  and  tenderly,  for  he  had  seen  how  un- 
happy they  had  been,  and  how  deeply  they 
had  loved  each  other. 

So  he  said,  in  a  very  gentle  voice:  "Do  not 
be  so  sad.  Your  father  and  mother  were  king- 
ly people." 

The  little  Goose  Girl  looked  at  him  wonder- 
ingly.  How  could  that  be?  Kingly!  The 
one  thing  that  she  longed  to  be,  for  the  sake  of 
the  King's  Son.  Kingly! 

"They  were  strong,  and  brave,  and  true," 
went  on  the  Fiddler,  softly.  "I  knew  them 
both  well.  The  Hangman's  daughter  and  the 
Hangman's  victim  were  both  royal  in  their 
hearts — worthy  of  Crowns,  both  of  them!" 

He  made  her  see  that  people's  souls  were 
stronger  and  greater  than  the  conditions  in 
which  they  lived;  and  that  quite  humble  peo- 
ple were  sometimes  born  with  the  qualities 
necessary  for  Kings  and  Queens.  He  ex- 
plained that  great  sorrow,  and  great  love,  and 
great  feelings  of  all  kinds  made  people  more 


The  Goose  Girl's    Star  1 1  3 

truly  royal  than  either  great  fortunes  or  great 
names.  For  after  all  Kings  were  merely  the 
persons  who  were  best  able  to  take  care  of 
other  people! 

"  So  be  comforted !"  said  the  Fiddler.  ' '  There 
is  no  reason  why  a  Goose  Girl  should  not  be 
truly  a  Royal  Child!" 

There  was  one  good  thing  about  the  Goose 
Girl.  When  the  truth  was  shown  to  her  she 
could  understand  it.  She  saw  clearly  that  she 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  her  father's  and  moth- 
er's ill-fortune.  And  as  she  decided  that  she 
would  not  be  ashamed,  she  found,  suddenly, 
that  she  was  not  afraid  any  longer  either — not 
even  of  the  Witch! 

"And  anyway,"  said  she,  with  a  swift  re- 
membrance, "the  King's  Son  gave  his  own 
Crown  to  me." 

She  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  shrubbery  and 
called : 

"Gray  Goose!  Sly  Goose!  Bring  back  to 
me  what  I  gave  you  to  hide!" 

Then  she  turned  to  the  Fiddler  with  love  and 
trust  shining  in  her  eyes. 


114  Kbnigskinder 

"Oh,  you  are  good!  You  are  kind!  I  will 
go  with  you,  and  you  will  show  me  how  to  find 
the  King's  Son  again.  I  was  afraid  before,  but 
now  I  am  not.  Oh,  please  tell  me  that  you 
think  I  shall  find  him  again!" 

The  wise  Gray  Goose  waddled  up  with  the 
Crown,  and  the  Goose  Girl  took  it  into  her 
hands. 

"Squawk!  I  wish  you  joy,"  said  the  Goose, 
gravely,  and  went  solemnly  off  to  join  the 
others. 

The  Goose  Girl  went  up  to  the  Witch. 

' '  You  must  let  me  go  now, ' '  she  said.  ' '  You 
must  set  me  free." 

"No,"  said  the  Witch,  in  a  terrible  voice. 
"Never — never!  I  shall  hold  you  a  prisoner 
until  you  are  in  your  grave!" 

She  raised  her  stick  with  a  threatening  ges- 
ture. And  again  the  magic  wind  swept  through 
the  clearing  and  the  ghostly  voices  spoke. 

The  Goose  Girl  turned  instinctively  toward 
the  Fiddler,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"If  you  wish  to  be  a  Royal  Child,"  he  said, 
"you  must  escape  from  the  magic  spells  with 


SHE    KNELT    AND    LIFTED    HER    FACE    TO    THE    SKY,    HOLDING    THE 
CROWN    IN    HER    TWO    HANDS 


The   Goose   Girl's    Star  115 

no  help  from  me  or  from  any  one  else.  Courage 
is  Royalty.  And  though  one  who  has  never 
been  afraid  is  very  brave,  one  who  has  felt  fear 
and  conquered  it  is  still  braver.  But  until 
then  you  have  no  right  to  wear  that  Crown." 

The  Goose  Girl  looked  at  the  big  circlet  of 
gold  which  she  held.  All  the  power  of  Witch- 
craft, all  the  mysterious  strength  of  the  Black 
Arts,  all  the  forces  of  Enchantment,  seemed 
to  rise  like  a  wall  about  the  child  which  they 
had  controlled  for  so  many  years.  But  she 
was  not  afraid  any  more. 

She  untied  her  kerchief,  and  her  long,  fair 
hair  fell  about  her  shoulders,  a  shimmering  veil 
in  the  faint  light.  Then  she  knelt  and  lifted 
her  face  to  the  sky,  holding  the  Crown  in  her 
two  hands. 

There  were  many  blazing  stars  there  now,  but 
the  one  just  above  her  seemed  brighter  and 
whiter  than  the  rest.  Her  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves on  this  star,  she  did  not  know  why,  as 
she  prayed  this  odd  little  prayer: 

' '  Father  and  Mother,  I  will  pray,  and  I  think 
you  will  answer  me.  Am  I  to  go  away  and 


116  Konigskinder 

be  free  from  the  Witch  ?  Shall  I  see  the  King's 
Son  again  ?  Am  I  to  be  royal  like  him,  and 
wear  his  Crown,  and  share  his  Throne?  Father 
and  Mother,  send  me  some  sign,  some  answer 
so  that  I  shall  know  that  you  hear  me  praying. 
Hear  me,  think  of  me — come  down  to  me!" 

There  was  a  blinding  blaze  of  snowy,  silver 
light.  The  far-away  white  star  at  which  she 
gazed  flamed  out  like  a  sun,  and  then — fell! 
The  answer  had  come. 

The  Star  fell  straight  out  of  Heaven,  flashing 
downward  through  the  dim  night,  and  finally 
dropped — right  into  the  heart  of  the  yellow 
Lily  in  the  garden — the  Goose  Girl's  Flower! 

Do  you  remember  the  King's  Son's  angry 
farewell?  You  see,  the  impossible  sometimes 
happens  after  all. 

' '  Free !  Free !  Free ! "  cried  the  little  Goose 
Girl,  joyously,  and  she  set  her  Crown  upon  her 
head;  then  she  ran  like  the  wind  into  the 
Enchanted  Forest.  And  not  all  the  Black 
Magic  in  the  world  could  stop  her  this  time. 

As  for  the  Fiddler,  he  was  dancing  about  the 
clearing. 


The  Goose  Girl's    Star  117 

"Heigh!     Heigh! 

Folderol-di!" 
he  sang, 

"So  the  Royal  Child  goes  free!" 

And  off  he  strode  after  the  little  maid. 

The  air  was  filled  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
wings.  There  was  a  quick  gleam  of  white — 
another — another!  The  whole  flock  of  Geese 
were  flying  after  the  Goose  Girl! 

In  the  little  clearing  the  Witch  stood  motion- 
less under  the  moon,  staring  at  the  great  Star 
flaming  in  the  Lily.  It  was  the  Goose  Girl's  Star ; 
it  was  the  Goose  Girl's  Flower.  The  Witch  knew 
that  as  long  as  they  bloomed  and  blazed  there 
the  child  would  be  safe  and  happy.  She  looked 
and  looked  for  a  space,  without  moving. 

Then  she  raised  her  crooked  stick  and 
crushed  the  Flower. 

The  Goose  Girl's  Star  went  out. 

WHEN    THE    STAR    FELL    FROM    HEAVEN    AND    PROVED 
THAT    THE     GOOSE     GIRL    WAS    ROYAL    AFTER    ALL 


PART    II 
THE   TOWN   OF   HELLABRUNN 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    INN   AT   THE   CITY   GATE 


MOTIF    OF   THE    KING  S    SWORD 


Now  we  must  see  what  happened  to  the 
King's  Son  when  he  raced  off  from  the  Witch's 
Hut  and  the  Goose  Girl  in  such  a  fury. 

At  first  the  big  Wood  appeared  to  laugh  at 
him  and  make  fun  of  him.  Little  Goblins 
seemed  to  grin  from  behind  trees,  and  the  wind 
in  the  underbrush  made  a  sound  like  chuckling 
as  he  went  by.  And  every  brook  he  crossed 
giggled  away  as  though  the  whole  affair  were  a 
great  joke. 


122  Konigskinder 

"Dear,  dear!"  he  fancied  that  the  Wood 
Things  were  saying,  mockingly,  "so  this  is  a 
King's  Son,  to  be  sure!  What  a  splendid  per- 
son is  a  King's  Son!  What  self-control  he  has, 
what  dignity,  what  fine  manners,  and  what  a 
nice  temper!  We  are  glad  to  see  at  last  what 
a  real  King's  Son  should  be!" 

So  they  seemed  to  chatter  together,  until  the 
boyish  Prince  felt  his  face  burn  with  shame  at 
the  thought  of  his  rudeness  to  the  Goose  Girl. 

After  a  while  he  grew  a  little  cooler  and 
calmer,  and  went  on  in  a  less  headlong  manner. 
He  stopped,  now  and  then,  to  fan  himself  with 
his  cap,  and  to  think  things  over  more  sensibly. 
He  felt  sorrier  than  ever  for  his  unkindness  and 
impoliteness  to  the  dear  little  girl  in  the  clear- 
ing, and  more  than  once  he  had  a  serious  im- 
pulse to  run  back  and  ask  her  to  forgive  him. 

But  his  pride — you  know,  the  King's  Son 
had  far  too  much  pride — would  not  let  him  do 
that  just  yet.  He  thought  that  he  should 
rather  wait  until  he  had  done  some  fine  things 
and  become  a  really  important  person.  It 
would  be  much  pleasanter,  it  seemed  to  him, 


The  Inn    at   the   City  Gate      123 

to  go  back  and  ask  her  pardon  if  he  were  rich 
and  famous  and  great.  Down  in  his  foolish 
young  heart  he  had  a  wish  to  have  the  Goose 
Girl  see  him  as  a  King's  Son  instead  of  a 
ragged  huntsman.  She  had  not  been  a  bit 
impressed  when  he  told  her  he  was  a  Prince; 
he  was  just  silly  enough  to  wish  that  he  could 
show  himself  off  to  her  in  such  a  royal  aspect 
that  she  would  have  to  be  a  little  awed.  So  he 
decided  to  wait  awhile. 

And  meanwhile  he  would  look  about  for  ex- 
citing things  to  do,  noble  deeds  by  which  to 
make  himself  famous  and  great  and  admired. 

His  adventures  with  wild  beasts,  and  storms, 
and  steep  paths,  in  crossing  the  Wonderful 
Mountains,  had  been  all  very  well.  He  had 
proved  that  he  could  stand  hardships  cheer- 
fully, and  that  it  would  take  a  good  deal  of 
danger  to  make  him  afraid.  And  he  had  found 
out  how  strong  and  well  he  was,  and  what  fun 
it  was  to  live  out  of  doors  and  look  out  for 
himself. 

So  far  so  good!  But  he  knew  nothing  of 
men  and  women;  for  he  hardly  counted  his 


1 24  Kbnigskinder 

courtiers  and  serving-people  at  home  as  human 
beings.  He  had  never  tried  to  use  his  wits, 
and  he  had  never  tried  to  earn  money,  nor  to 
win  any  sort  of  place  for  himself  among  his 
fellow-creatures.  He  knew  that  the  right  sort 
of  boys  could  do  very  well  in  the  world  even 
without  help.  They  were  bright,  and  pleasant- 
mannered,  and  patient,  and  energetic,  and  peo- 
ple were  glad  to  have  them  about,  and  to  give 
them  all  the  work  that  they  wanted  to  do. 
Every  common  lad  had  the  chance  of  a  living 
in  the  world.  And  surely  he — a  King's  Son — 
could  do  at  least  as  well  as  a  common  lad ! 

He  was  anxious  to  go  about  it  without 
further  delay.  And  as  soon  as  his  temper  had 
sufficiently  cooled  he  began  to  consider  the 
best  and  quickest  way  of  reaching  the  world 
of  men. 

The  little  Goose  Girl  had  spoken  of  the 
Mortal  Folk  in  the  Valley.  He  commenced 
to  descend  the  mountainside  with  eager  steps, 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  distant  roofs. 

At  last  he  reached  a  large  rock  with  a  good 
space  of  clear  trees  around  and  beneath  it.  He 


The  Inn  at  the  City   Gate       125 

saw  that  it  jutted  far  out,  and  overhung  the 
lowlands.  From  it  he  had  a  fine  view  for  miles 
and  miles. 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  he  could  see  a 
winding  highroad  lying  like  a  cream-colored 
ribbon  across  the  green  country.  And,  quite 
far  away,  was  the  Town  of  Hellabrunn,  with 
a  great  City  Wall  about  it  and  an  enormous 
City  Gate,  which  he  could  see  even  from  his 
distant  mountainside. 

The  King's  Son  gazed  and  gazed  at  the  red 
and  gray  roofs,  the  faint  trails  and  wreaths  of 
smoke,  and  the  occasional  leafy  tree-top,  which 
went  to  make  up  the  City  of  Hellabrunn.  His 
heart  beat  fast  with  hope  and  excitement.  It 
was  there  that  he  was  going  to  prove  himself 
the  most  remarkable  boy  in  the  world,  and 
thus  learn  to  be  a  true  King's  Son. 

He  wondered  what  marvelous  things  were 
going  to  happen  to  him  in  Hellabrunn.  In  his 
imagination  he  saw  himself  winning  every- 
body's admiration  —  fighting  robbers,  slaying 
wicked  men  with  the  King's  Sword,  and  finally 
receiving  a  laurel  wreath  as  a  mark  of  esteem 


126  Konigskinder 

from  the  townspeople.  Then  he  would  pro- 
claim that  he  was  a  King's  Son,  with  a  King's 
Throne  awaiting  him  beyond  the  mountains! 

Ah!  That  would  be  a  thrilling  moment — 
worth  waiting  and  working  for,  more  exciting 
far  than  the  comfortable,  proper  Coronation 
which  he  would  have  in  the  Contented  King- 
dom. 

But  meanwhile  he  must  get  to  Hellabrunn! 
He  ate  a  hasty  supper  of  wild  strawberries  and 
spring-water,  and  set  out  in  search  of  the  town 
and  the  wonderful  adventures  for  which  he 
was  so  eager. 

It  was  growing  late,  so  he  went  forward  as 
fast  as  he  could,  wishing  to  reach  the  city  by 
nightfall.  But  darkness  had  come  before  he 
was  out  of  the  Forest.  Perhaps  the  Enchanted 
Wood  did  not  wish  him  to  escape  too  soon! 

Once  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  three  men 
climbing  the  steep  hillside  a  little  distance  from 
him.  One,  the  tallest  and  the  foremost,  was 
singing.  The  King's  Son  noticed  that  the 
melody  was  a  fine  one,  and  it  rang  in  his  ears 
for  long  afterward.  The  other  two  men  were 


The   Inn  at   the   City   Gate       127 

following  less  actively,  and  grumbling  a  great 
deal.  Of  course,  they  were  our  friends  the 
Fiddler,  the  Wood-cutter,  and  the  Broom- 
maker,  on  their  way  from  Hellabrunn  to  the 
"Wise  Woman's"  Hut.  But  they  did  not  see 
the  King's  Son,  and  he  went  on  down  the  moun- 
tain. 

It  was  long  past  sunset  when  he  reached  the 
highroad,  and  he  was  already  very  tired  and 
hungry.  But  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
find  shelter  in  the  town  that  night,  and  he 
would  take  no  rest  until  he  reached  his  jour- 
ney's end.  So  he  tramped  along  stoutly,  cheer- 
ing himself  up  by  thinking  of  all  the  interesting 
things  that  were  going  to  happen  some  day. 

The  moon  rose — the  crescent  moon  that  was 
shining  at  that  moment  on  the  Fiddler  as  he 
waited  outside  the  Witch's  Hut.  Now  the 
King's  Son  could  see  the  lights  of  Hellabrunn 
twinkling  faintly  out  of  the  shadowy  distance 
ahead  of  him.  He  quickened  his  pace,  and 
thought  of  the  comfortable  bed  and  hot  sup- 
per which  were  sure  to  be  waiting  for  him 
somewhere  in  the  town.  How  long  it  seemed 


128  Konigskinder 

since  he  had  slept  in  a  bed  or  eaten  at  a 
table! 

During  the  evening  a  shower  fell  and  wet  the 
King's  Son  to  the  skin.  So  his  hunting-boots 
and  coarse,  red  jerkin  were  not  only  torn  to 
shreds,  but  plastered  with  mud  as  well.  He 
was  as  shabby  as  the  worst  beggar  that  ever 
trudged  that  highway  to  the  Town  of  Hella- 
brunn. 

At  last,  very  late  that  night,  he  reached  the 
City  Gates.  They  stood  open  still,  but  the 
Gate-keepers  were  at  hand,  and  about  to  close 
them  for  the  night.  They  saw  the  shadow 
of  a  vagrant  dragging  his  weary  way  along 
the  road,  and  called  to  him  roughly  to  make 
haste.  He  did  so,  hurrying  through  the  en- 
trance; and  the  big  iron  doors  clanged  behind 
him,  and  the  huge  bolt  was  lifted  into  place. 

So  the  King's  Son  entered  Hellabrunn. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  square  in  front 
of  a  low  building  with  lights  in  the  windows. 
Along  one  side  stretched  the  tall  City  Wall 
into  the  darkness.  Ahead  of  him  were  the 
twisted,  narrow  streets  and  alleys  of  the  Town. 


The  Inn  at  the   City  Gate       129 

The  citizens  of  Hellabrunn  went  to  bed  early, 
and  there  appeared  to  be  nobody  out  of  doors, 
except  the  Gate-keepers  and  the  Night  Watch- 
man, who  were  grumbling  together  about  the 
change  in  the  weather. 

The  King's  Son  could  see  almost  nothing  in 
the  dim  light,  and  the  strange  place  utterly 
bewildered  him.  He  did  not  know  whether  he 
should  go  on  into  the  Town  and  explore,  or 
knock  at  the  door  of  the  lighted  house.  At 
last  he  decided  to  do  the  latter,  and  walked 
boldly  up  to  the  building. 

He  had  to  rap  several  times  before  any  one 
answered.  Certainly  Hellabrunn  did  not  seem 
as  hospitable  as  he  had  expected.  At  last  the 
door  was  slowly  opened  by  a  dirty,  tattered  girl 
with  bare  feet,  and  a  ragged  dress  tucked  up 
under  an  old  apron.  She  had  untidy  hair,  and 
looked  cross  and  tired. 

In  the  lighted  room  behind  her  was  a  second 
girl  washing  some  very  big  pots  and  pans.  She 
seemed  a  little  cleaner  than  the  first,  but  just 
as  weary  and  just  as  disagreeable. 

The  King's  Son  felt  rather  shy,  but  he  pulled 


130  Konigskinder 

off  his  cap  and  asked  a  few  questions,  very 
humbly  and  courteously.  The  girls  told  him 
ill-temperedly  that  the  house  was  an  Inn,  but 
that  they  were  only  the  servants,  and  could 
not  take  anybody  in  without  permission  from 
the  Innkeeper.  He  and  his  daughter  had  both 
gone  to  bed.  They  were  finishing  their  work 
and_  getting  things  ready  for  a  great  feast-day 
and  merrymaking  on  the  morrow. 

The  King's  Son  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
He  looked  wistfully  into  the  room  where  the 
maids  were  working,  and  wished  that  he  could 
afford  to  come  in  and  order  a  supper.  But  he 
had  no  money,  and  he  could  not  quite  bring 
himself  to  beg  from  the  serving-wenches  of  the 
Inn! 

He  was  turning  away  with  a  sigh  when  they 
stopped  him.  They  had  warm  hearts,  in  spite 
of  their  scowling  faces,  and  they  could  see  that 
he  was  tired  and  hungry.  He  was  a  nice-look- 
ing boy,  too,  and  more  polite  than  the  lads 
of  the  Town,  so  they  decided  to  look  after 
him. 

The  Bar-Maid,  the  girl  with  the  pots  and  pans, 


The  Inn   at  the   City   Gate       131 

found  him  some  cold  scraps,  and  the  dirty, 
barefooted  lass  who  said  she  was  the  Sta- 
ble-Maid told  him  roughly  but  kindly  that 
she  would  find  him  a  corner  in  the  stable 
where,  at  any  rate,  he  could  sleep  under  shel- 
ter. 

The  King's  Son  thanked  them  civilly  and 
with  real  gratitude,  and  ate  his  bread,  and 
cheese,  and  cold  bacon,  and  drank  his  stale 
mead  with  an  excellent  appetite.  Then  he 
waited  outside  in  the  rain  while  the  Stable- 
Maid  found  and  lighted  a  battered  lantern. 

Then  she  put  on  a  pair  of  wooden  shoes, 
which  made  a  great  deal  of  noise  as  she  walked, 
though  she  kept  telling  the  King's  Son  to  be 
perfectly  quiet.  She  came  outside  with  the 
lantern,  and  led  the  way,  splashing  through 
the  wet  darkness.  The  King's  Son  followed  her 
in  silence,  thinking,  to  tell  the  truth,  that  he 
had  never  seen  anything  quite  so  funny  as  her 
dumpy,  shabby  figure  clumping  along  through 
the  mud  in  the  ungainly  wooden  shoes,  with 
the  queer  old  lantern  casting  big  shadows  as 
it  swung. 


132  Konigskinder 

They  went  around  the  Inn,  and  through  the 
courtyard  at  the  back.  A  faint  whinnying 
sound  told  him  that  they  were  somewhere  near 
a  stable.  The  next  moment  the  Stable- Maid 
stopped,  set  down  the  light,  and  unlocked  the 
door  of  the  low,  weather-beaten  barn.  She 
beckoned  to  him,  and  when  he  approached 
pushed  him  inside  with  a  rough  but  friendly 
hand. 

Then,  when  he  was  safe  inside,  she  shut  the 
door,  leaving  him  in  the  dark,  and  took  up 
her  lantern  again.  He  could  hear  her  wood- 
en shoes  going  away  —  splish  -  splosh,  clump ! 
Splish  -  splosh,  clump  !  Then  all  was  still 
again. 

Left  alone  in  that  pitch-black  barn,  the 
King's  Son  groped  about  him  for  some  moments 
without  touching  anything  at  all.  Suddenly 
he  stumbled  over  something  soft,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  great  grunting  and  squealing  arose. 
For  a  second  he  was  thoroughly  angry  and 
disgusted.  Then  his  sense  of  humor  over- 
came him.  He  sat  down  on  the  floor  and 
laughed  till  he  cried.  So  this  was  the  first 


The   Inn   at   the   City   Gate       133 

of    the    wonderful   adventures   of    the    King's 
Son! 

He  was  to  sleep  in  the  pig-pen  \ 


ONE   OF   THE   MELODIES    OF   THE    KING  S    SON 

: : 1— 1 IS 


S   * 


10 


CHAPTER   X 
THE  INNKEEPER'S  DAUGHTER 

WHEN  THE  INNKEEPER'S  DAUGHTER  AND  THE  STABLE- 
MAID    CHATTERED    OUTSIDE    THE    INN 


WHEN    THEY    QUARRELED 


THE  next  day  dawned  bright  and  clear  in 
Hellabrunn. 

The  whole  City  was  in  wild  excitement.  The 
Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker  had  come 
back  from  the  mountain  the  evening  before, 


The  Innkeeper's   Daughter       135 

and  though  only  the  Town  Council  knew  pre- 
cisely what  message  they  had  brought  from 
the  Witch,  there  were  a  number  of  rumors 
abroad.  The  newrs  had  gone  about  that  the 
Wise  Woman  had  made  a  Prophecy  concerning 
the  future  King  of  Hella — a  Prophecy  which 
was  to  come  true  that  very  day. 

The  citizens  and  their  good  wives  talked  it 
over  and  wondered  how  much  truth  there  might 
be  in  the  report.  There  was  no  doubt  in  any 
one's  mind  that  something  thrilling  was  about 
to  happen. 

Every  year  Hellabrunn  held  a  sort  of  Festi- 
val, like  our  modern  Holidays,  when  people 
did  no  regular  business,  but  just  enjoyed  them- 
selves. On  that  day  the  young  men  and  the 
pretty  girls  dressed  themselves  in  their  best 
and  gayest  clothes;  the  innkeepers  got  ready 
great  casks  of  wine  and  platters  of  good  food, 
and  the  housewives  hung  bright  garlands  and 
streamers  from  their  windows. 

The  date  of  this  yearly  merrymaking  had 
come,  and  now  Hellabrunn  looked  upon  it  as 
an  occasion  of  especial  celebration  and  rejoic- 


136  Konigskinder 

ing.  Before  sunset — if  the  gossip  was  true — 
there  would  be  a  ruler  in  the  City.  Already 
they  had  begun  to  call  it  the  King's  Day. 

It  was  whispered  that  the  Witch  had  some- 
thing about  the  Gate  in  her  Prophecy;  and  it 
was  in  the  square  before  it  that  the  Tribunal 
of  the  Town  Council  had  been  put  up.  The 
Tribunal  was  just  a  platform  with  a  canopy, 
and  benches  on  which  the  Councilors  and  their 
wives  could  sit.  You  can  see  that  of  all  the 
taverns  in  the  City  the  one  by  the  great  Gate 
was  sure  to  make  the  most  money  on  the  King's 
Day. 

The  whole  household  of  the  Inn  rose  at  dawn 
and  hurried  about  the  morning  work.  The 
Stable-Maid  got  a  big  basket  and  hastened  off 
to  market,  and  the  Bar-Maid  started  in  to 
polish  off  the  tables  and  benches  in  front  of 
the  hostelry. 

Even  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter  got  up  early — 
though  usually  she  was  a  very  lazy  maiden — 
and  began  to  decorate  the  tavern  with  great 
branches  and  strings  of  little  fir-cones  brought 
from  the  wooded  hillside. 


The  Innkeeper's   Daughter       i  37 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  was  a  big,  good- 
looking,  loud-voiced  girl,  far  too  rough  in  man- 
ner and  far  too  fond  of  fine  clothes.  She  spent 
a  great  deal  of  money  on  tasteless,  gaudy 
dresses,  and  bright-hued  ribbons  that  did  not 
match.  She  curled  her  coarse,  black  hair,  and 
wore  brilliant  buckles  on  her  slippers,  and  even 
her  aprons  and  kerchiefs  were  covered  with 
cheap,  showy  trimming. 

She  was  not  dainty  nor  pretty  like  the  Goose 
Girl.  Her  manners  were  not  gentle  and  her 
expression  was  not  sweet.  And,  in  her  gay 
blue  petticoat  and  embroidered  apron  with 
cherry-red  bows,  I  do  not  think  that  she 
looked  half  so  charming  as  the  Witch's  little 
maid  in  her  old  gray  gown. 

The  Innkeeper  spoiled  his  daughter,  and  she 
very  seldom  worked,  or  did  anything  useful. 
Usually  she  left  all  that  to  the  poor  Stable-Maid 
and  Bar-Maid.  But  to-day  was  different. 
To-day  a  King  was  coming  to  Hellabrunn,  and 
— who  could  tell?  He  might  stop  at  the  Inn 
for  a  cup  of  wine  or  mead ;  he  might  even  throw 
a  compliment  to  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter ! 


138  Konigskinder 

So  she  was  up  bright  and  early  that  lovely 
summer  morning,  and  sitting  outside  the 
tavern,  making  garlands  as  busily  as  though 
she  were  used  to  it. 

The  square  was  deserted  except  for  the  two 
Gate-keepers,  dressed  in  queer  costumes  of 
crimson,  with  shining  helmets  and  long  spears. 
They  walked  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the 
entrance  to  the  City.  The  great  doors  were 
still  closed  and  bolted,  according  to  the  orders 
of  the  Town  Council. 

From  a  distance  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter 
could  hear  the  murmur  of  voices  as  she  worked. 
The  Council  Hall  was  not  many  streets  away. 
Clearly,  the  people  of  the  Town  were  waiting 
there  for  further  news.  The  Innkeeper's  Daugh- 
ter felt  quite  excited.  There  would  be  great 
doings  in  Hellabrunn,  one  might  be  sure!  Well, 
she  for  one  would  be  glad  for  a  King  to  be 
crowned  at  last.  There  would  be  processions, 
and  golden  coaches,  and  all  manner  of  interest- 
ing things  to  look  at  and  talk  about. 

She  glanced  at  the  sun,  getting  higher  and 
hotter  every  minute,  and  her  fingers  moved 


The  Innkeeper's   Daughter       139 

more  energetically  than  ever.  The  Inn  by  the 
City  Gate  must  be  well  decked  out  and  deco- 
rated on  the  King's  Day. 

There  was  a  clumping  of  wooden  shoes  on 
the  roughly  paved  street,  and  the  Stable-Maid 
came  flying  around  the  corner.  She  was  out 
of  breath,  her  dirty  cap  was  askew,  and  her 
heavy  basket  bobbed  and  bumped  as  she  ran. 

''Mistress,  mistress!"  she  cried,  loudly.  "You 
never  saw  anything  like  the  streets  this  morn- 
ing! There's  a  perfect  mob  in  front  of  the 
Town  Hall — all  shouting  and  running  in  every 
direction.  I  could  hardly  get  across  the 
Market-place." 

She  fanned  herself  with  her  apron. 

"The  Comb-cutter  let  me  stand  in  his  door- 
way a  moment,"  she  added,  "to  rest  a  bit  and 
watch  the  great  doings." 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  scowled  at  her. 

"The  Comb-cutter!"  she  sniffed.  "A  com- 
mon, vulgar  man!  Fancy  wasting  one's  time 
on  a  Comb-cutter!" 

"He's  a  kind,  good  man!"  exclaimed  the 
Stable-Maid,  indignantly. 


140  Konigskinder 

"Shut  your  mouth!"  snapped  the  Inn- 
keeper's Daughter,  rudely,  and  threw  a  fir-cone 
at  her. 

The  Stable-Maid  began  to  cry  noisily,  for  the 
cone  had  hit  her  face.  She  slammed  down  her 
basket  and  clumped  over  to  the  Bar-Maid  for 
sympathy. 

"The  Mistress  has  nearly  broken  my  teeth!" 
she  sobbed,  angrily.  "Horrid,  bullying,  vain 
creature!  How  I  hate  her!  Don't  you?" 

She  took  up  a  handful  of  straw  and  began  to 
help  rub  off  the  tables.  The  Innkeeper's 
Daughter  had  worked  as  long  as  she  could 
possibly  bring  herself  to  do  anything.  She 
pushed  away  the  leaves  and  evergreen  and  fir- 
cones, and  began  to  smooth  her  hair  and  pull 
out  her  cherry-colored  ribbons.  The  Stable- 
Maid  made  a  face  at  the  back  of  her  head. 

"Are  you  all  dressed  up  to  welcome  the 
King,  Mistress?"  she  asked,  with  spiteful 
sweetness. 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  be?"  demanded  the 
Innkeeper's  Daughter,  whose  opinion  of  her- 
self was  very  good  indeed. 


The  Innkeeper's   Daughter       141 

"I  suppose  that  isn't  waste  of  time ?"  said  the 
Stable-Maid,  who  had  not  forgotten  how  hor- 
rid the  Mistress  had  been  about  the  Comb- 
cutter. 

"Don't  talk  so  much!  And  a  King's  very 
different  from  a  Comb-cutter!"  declared  the 
Innkeeper's  Daughter,  with  her  nose  in  the  air. 

"  I  think,  Fair  Lady,  that  the  King  would 
agree  with  you,"  said  an  amused  voice  from 
the  corner  of  the  Inn. 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  turned  around 
with  a  little  jump.  She  saw  a  straight,  hand- 
some lad,  with  dark  hair,  merry  eyes,  and  a 
brown  face.  It  was  our  King's  Son,  of  course, 
who  had  spent  the  night  in  the  pig-pen.  He 
smiled  at  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter,  and  she 
looked  him  over.  She  liked  his  face  and  bear- 
ing, but  she  sniffed  at  his  ragged,  weather- 
stained  clothes.  She  was  too  stupid  to  see 
that  even  in  those  tatters  he  looked  like  a 
Prince.  To  her  he  was  just  a  tramp,  though 
an  attractive  one. 

"Hoity-toity!"  said  she.  "His  lordship 
seems  very  much  at  home." 


142  Konigskinder 

You  see,  the  King's  Son  was  used  to  a  Royal 
Palace,  and  I  suppose  that  he  did  not  look  so 
humble  as  a  poor  wanderer  was  expected  to 
look.  The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  turned  to  the 
Stable-Maid. 

"Who  is  he?"  she  asked,  bluntly.  And,  as 
the  youth  strolled  across  the  square,  glancing 
about  him,  she  added,  frowning,  "Does  he 
think  he  owns  the  place?" 

"Poor  knave!"  said  the  Stable-Maid.  "He 
doesn't  own  anything.  He's  a  beggar!  He 
came  late  last  night  and  slept  with  the  pigs." 

"He's  nice-looking,  but  stuck-up,"  said  the 
Innkeeper's  Daughter.  "A  beggar,  eh?" 

She  was  so  vain  that  she  wanted  even  a 
beggar  to  admire  her,  and  it  made  her  cross 
that  the  King's  Son  had  hardly  looked  at  her, 
except  to  bow  and  smile — and  he  had  bowed 
and  smiled  to  the  two  serving-lasses  just  as 
pleasantly. 

"Be  off  with  you!"  she  said  suddenly  to  the 
Stable-Maid.  "Get  me  some  yarn  for  my 
spinning-wheel ! ' ' 

"Why  don't  you  say  'I  want  to  speak  to  the 


The  Innkeeper's  Daughter       143 

gentleman  alone,'  and  be  done  with  it?"  said 
the  Stable-Maid,  impertinently,  and  took  her- 
self off. 

I  am  afraid  that  the  poor  Stable-Maid  was 
really  excessively  rude,  but  she  worked  so  hard 
and  was  so  roughly  treated  that  it  was  won- 
derful she  ever  had  a  kind  word  for  anybody. 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  decided  to  be 
gracious  to  the  very  polite  beggar-boy.  She 
made  room  on  the  bench  where  she  was  sitting, 
and  said  in  a  patronizing  way: 

"You  may  sit  beside  me." 

If  she  had  been  able  to  look  into  the  mind 
of  the  King's  Son  she  would  not  have  wasted 
time  in  trying  to  be  amiable  to  him.  To  tell 
the  truth,  he  was  not  thinking  of  her  at  all; 
he  was  not  even  thinking  of  the  Stable-maid 
(whom  he  liked  much  better  than  the  Inn- 
keeper's Daughter) ,  nor  of  the  pig-pen,  nor  the 
Inn  by  the  City  Gate,  nor  anything  in  Hella- 
brunn. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  Goose  Girl.  And  he 
was  thinking  of  her  harder  and  more  steadily 
than  he  had  ever  thought  of  anything  in  his 


144  Konigskinder 

life.  It  seemed  very  odd;  and  it  had  come 
about  in  this  way: 

The  King's  Son  had  had  a  Dream — not  the 
ordinary  sort  of  dream,  in  which  all  kinds  of 
silly,  topsy-turvy  things  happen,  everything  in 
such  a  muddle  that  you  can  only  remember 
scraps  here  and  there — not  that  manner  of 
dream  at  all.  No;  he  had  dreamed  something 
from  which  he  was  not  able  to  get  away ;  some- 
thing which  he  could  not  drive  out  of  his 
head;  something  which  had  seemed  so  clear, 
so  real,  he  could  not  help  believing  that  if  it 
had  not  been  true  it  was  going  to  be  some 
time. 

You  remember  he  had  not  been  affected  by 
the  Witch's  Magic  nor  by  the  Enchanted 
Forest  the  day  before.  Well,  it  was  just  as 
though  that  Magic  and  that  Enchantment 
had  followed  him  and  surrounded  him  while  he 
was  asleep.  His  head  was  full  of  the  noise  of 
bells  —  yes,  big,  pealing,  tuneful  bells  that 
rang  and  rang  and  rang,  now  loud,  now  low — 
now  close  to  him,  now  far  away.  Through  his 
heavy  slumber — for  he  had  slept  the  deep  sleep 


The  Innkeeper's  Daughter       145 

of  fatigue — this  chiming  and  tolling  had  gone 
on,  it  seemed,  for  a  very  long  time. 

Then  suddenly  he  had  dreamed  that  the  sun 
was  shining  very  brilliantly,  and  that  just  be- 
fore him  in  the  blaze  of  light  stood  the  Goose 
Girl.  She  was  just  as  he  remembered  her, 
dressed  in  the  rough  gray  gown  and  the  shabby 
little  shoes.  But  in  his  Dream  the  old  red 
kerchief  was  gone,  and  her  long,  fair  hair 
streamed  about  her,  gleaming  in  the  sun.  And 
on  her  head  was  the  Crown — his  Crown — which 
he  had  thrown  into  the  bushes  near  the  Witch's 
Hut. 

And  even  when  he  was  wide  awake  the 
Dream  stayed  with  him.  When  he  closed  his 
eyes  he  could  still  see  the  little  Goose  Girl  with 
the  gold  Crown  on  her  gold  hair,  and  he  could 
still  hear  the  slow,  deep  pealing  of  the  strange 
dream-bells. 

So,  when  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter  asked  him 
to  sit  down  by  her  he  did  not  really  want  to, 
but  he  had  to  be  polite.  So  he  thanked  her 
and  sat  down  with  a  little  bow.  She  looked  at 
him  in  a  superior  way. 


146  Konigskinder 

"Your  eyes  look  as  though  you  felt  ill,"  she 
remarked,  critically. 

"I'm  not  ill!"  said  the  boy,  rather  indignant- 
ly. "I — I've  been  dreaming,  that's  all.  I 
can't  seem  to  get  awake." 

"When  your  dreams  weigh  on  you  like  that," 
said  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter,  who  was  prac- 
tical, and  not  fanciful,  "it  means  that  you're 
hungry.  Have  you  had  any  breakfast?" 

The  lad  colored.  His  pockets  were,  even 
emptier  than  his  stomach.  He  could  not  af- 
ford breakfast,  and  knew  it. 

"I — I'm  in  no  hurry!"  he  said,  hastily. 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  could  not  under- 
stand why  he  should  be  embarrassed.  He  was 
a  beggar;  he  ought  to  be  willing  to  beg  for  a 
meal.  Why  should  he  be  proud?  She  called 
the  Bar- Maid. 

"Bring  out  some  nice,  fat,  rich  pork!"  said 
she,  with  the  air  of  a  very  grand  person  order- 
ing a  feast.  "And  you  might  get  a  tankard  of 
wine,  too,"  she  added,  more  doubtfully.  She 
did  not  want  to  be  too  generous  to  a  beggar. 

The  maid  went  into  the  Inn  kitchen.     Cook- 


The   Innkeeper's  Daughter       147 

ing  was  already  going  on,  and  the  air  was  full 
of  the  smells  from  it.  They  were  not  the  niee 
smells  that  come  from  good  things  to  eat,  but 
the  strong,  disagreeable  odors  of  coarse  food. 
The  King's  Son  forgot  his  Dream  long  enough 
to  wish  for  a  breakfast  of  wild  grapes  and  sassa- 
fras, such  as  he  had  lately  had  in  the  woods — 
anything  rather  than  the  cabbage  and  salt  beef 
and  onion  soup  which  were  being  prepared  for 
the  Inn  breakfast. 

"Doesn't  that  delicious  scent  make  you  feel 
better?"  asked  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter,  whose 
nose  was  not  sensitive. 

"N-no,"  faltered  the  King's  Son.  "It-it 
smells  a  tiny  bit — greasy,  doesn't  it?"  Then, 
seeing  her  frown,  he  added,  hastily,  "I'm 
afraid  I'm  spoilt." 

"You  do  put  on  a  good  many  airs  for  a 
beggar,"  said  she,  eying  him  with  displeasure. 

The  King's  Son  looked  up  quickly. 

"Please  don't  think  that!"  he  said,  in  his 
gentle,  well-bred  voice.  "All  I  ask  for,  Mis- 
tress, is  a  cup  of  water  and  a  bit  of  bread." 

"We  wouldn't  give  bread  and  water  to — to 


148  Konigskinder 

— to — a  tailor!"  said  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter, 
with  a  haughty  air. 

The  King's  Son  was  a  little  amused,  but  he 
said,  gravely,  "You  are  very  great  people  here, 
then?" 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  tossed  her  head. 

"Oh,  we  can  hold  our  own  with  the  best  of 
them ! ' '  she  said .  ' '  We  wear  handsome  clothes ' ' 
— she  smoothed  her  gay  skirt — "and — we  know 
the  world,  I  can  tell  you!" 

The  Bar-Maid  came  out  of  the  Inn  jvith  a 
big  dish  heaped  with  boiled  pork  and  cabbage, 
and  a  tin  tankard  and  cup.  She  placed  the 
things  on  the  table  and  went  on  with  her  work. 
The  food  looked  most  unpleasant  to  the  boy, 
but  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter  thought  that  he 
should  have  been  delighted  with  it.  She 
pressed  him  to  eat  the  pork  and  to  drink  the 
cheap,  sour  wine,  talking  all  the  time  of  her 
own  generosity  and  his  good  fortune,  until  he 
was  more  disgusted  with  her  bad  manners  than 
he  was  with  the  meal. 

But  he  tried  to  eat,  and  thanked  her.  He 
could  swallow  very  little,  and  soon  rose,  saying 


The  Innkeeper's  Daughter       149 

that  he  had  had  all  he  wanted.  The  Inn- 
keeper's Daughter  strongly  suspected  that  he 
did  not  like  his  breakfast,  and  she  looked  at  him 
ill-naturedly,  saying  in  the  rudest  tone  pos- 
sible: "You  starved  cat!  You  can  stay 
starved  if  you  like!" 

"I  have  made  you  angry,"  said  the  King's 
Son,  courteously.  "Please  let  me  beg  your 
pardon!  Indeed  I  am  grateful,  and  I  ate  all 
that  I  could." 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  told  him  that  he 
might  rest  under  the  tree  if  he  liked.  She  was 
rather  pleased  with  his  good  manners. 

But  the  tree  happened  to  be  a  linden,  and  it 
was  beneath  a  linden-tree  that  he  had  sat  with 
the  Goose  Girl.  As  soon  as  he  went  near  it  he 
breathed  its  perfume,  and  immediately  the 
bells  of  his  Dream  began  to  peal  through  his 
brain  once  more. 

"You  blind  bat!"  said  the  Innkeeper's 
Daughter,  sharply.  ' '  What  are  you  staring  at  ?' ' 

The  King's  Son  did  not  hear  her.  He  was 
feeling  in  his  doublet  for  the  wreath  the  Goose 

Girl  had  given  him  under  the  linden-tree.     - 
11 


150  Konigskinder 

"You  don't  hear  one  word  I  say!"  said  the 
Innkeeper's  Daughter,  exasperated.  "Look 
at  me!  Don't  you  think  I  am  pretty,  beg- 
gar?" 

The  King's  Son  looked  at  her. 

"You  are  not  so  pretty  as  the  Goose  Girl," 
he  said,  telling  the  simple  truth. 

"Oh,  you  beggar!  You  slave!  You  starv- 
ing thief!  You  drowned  rat!"  screamed  the 
Innkeeper's  Daughter.  "I'll  scratch  your  face 
in  a  minute!"  And,  indeed,  she  looked  like 
an  angry  cat. 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  at  all,"  said  the 
King's  Son,  coolly,  beginning  to  grow  tired  of 
all  this. 

"  Wait!  I'll  be  even  with  you  yet!"  gasped 
the  Innkeeper's  Daughter,  and  boxed  his  ears. 

Then  she  flew  like  a  whirlwind  up  the  steps 
and  into  the  Inn. 

"Here's  your  spinning-yarn,  Mistress!"  cried 
the  Stable-Maid,  with  shrill  mockery. 

"Take  it  and  hang  yourself  with  it!"  replied 
the  Innkeeper's  Daughter. 

"What  a  nice  time  they  seem  to  have  been 


The  Innkeeper's   Daughter       151 

having!"  said  the  Stable-Maid  to  the  Bar-Maid, 
as  they  carried  another  bench  outside. 

The  King's  Son  meanwhile  was  rubbing  his 
cheek.  His  ears  had  never  been  boxed  before. 

Suddenly  he  laughed  aloud  to  himself. 

"That,"  said  he,  to  the  linden-tree,  "is  an 
entirely  new  kind  of  homage  for  the  King's 
Son!" 

THE   MELODY   OF    THE    INNKEEPER'S    DAUGHTER 


CHAPTER   XI 

"A  SWINEHERD!" 

FLOWER-WHISPERS    FROM    THE    WREATH 


THE  King's  Son  was  cross.  Though  he  had 
been  able  to  laugh  all  the  time,  his  talk  with 
the  Innkeeper's  Daughter  had  annoyed  him. 
It  had  been  his  first  real  conversation  with  a 
vulgar  and  disagreeable  person,  and  he  felt 
badly  ruffled  by  it.  He  said  to  himself  that  he 
much  preferred  the  society  of  the  bears  and 
wolves  of  the  woodlands  to  that  of  the  citizens 
of  Hellabrunn.  For  an  angry  moment  he  was 
even  tempted  to  leave  the  City  and  hunt  his 
adventures  elsewhere.  He  had  not  stopped  to 
think  that  he  would  be  just  as  likely  to  find 
bad  manners  and  stupidity  in  other  towns. 


"A   Swineherd  !"  153 

Unfortunately,  there  was  nothing  unusual  about 
Hellabrunn,  as  he  would  have  found  if  he  had 
continued  his  journey. 

He  thought  of  going  back  to  the  Contented 
Kingdom,  where,  though  he  might  be  bored,  he 
would  at  least  be  comfortable,  and  where, 
even  if  persons  might  be  a  trifle  dull,  they 
would  at  least  be  pleasant  and  courteous.  He 
turned  impulsively  to  begin  his  homeward 
travels,  and  said  aloud: 

"Good-by,  Hellabrunn!" 

But  something  stopped  him.  He  felt  dis- 
tinctly a  touch  upon  his  breast.  What  was  it  ? 
Some  breath  of  magic,  no  doubt;  he  could 
not  say.  It  pressed  him;  it  pricked  him. 
Suddenly  he  knew  what  it  was.  It  was  the 
Wreath  inside  his  doublet — the  broken  Wreath 
in  exchange  for  which  he  had  offered  the  Goose 
Girl  his  Crown. 

He  pulled  out  the  little  garland  of  leaves  and 
flowers,  and  was  amazed  to  see  that  it  was  as 
fresh  and  unfaded  as  when  it  had  first  been 
picked.  Not  a  petal  was  torn,  not  a  leaf 
wilted.  It  was  wonderful!  And  as  he  held 


154  Konigskinder 

the  Wreath  in  his  hands  the  blossoms  seemed 
to  whisper  to  him  with  tiny,  rustling  voices: 
"Do  not  go — do  not  go — do  not  go — " 

The  King's  Son  straightened  up  sharply  and 
flushed  crimson  under  his  tan. 

"Even  the  flowers  have  to  reprove  me!"  he 
murmured.  "I  was  afraid.  I  was  afraid  of 
the  bothers  and  discomforts  ahead  of  me.  I 
wanted  to  run  away — 7,  the  King's  Son!  That 
is  what  this  beggar's  business  has  done  to  me!" 

He  felt  hot  with  shame.  He  had  entered 
Hellabrunn  full  of  hope  and  courage,  prepared 
to  do  any  work  that  he  might  find,  and  to  meet 
all  hardships  merrily.  He  had  wanted  to  learn 
how  to  rule  by  first  learning  how  to  serve — 
which,  by-the-by,  is  the  only  true  education 
for  Kings'  Sons.  And  now  he  was  shrinking 
from  every  tiny  annoyance,  every  disagreeable 
trifle,  as  though  he  were  a  coward  and  a  weak- 
ling! Leave  Hellabrunn?  Not  now,  even  if 
they  ordered  him  to!  He  would  stay  there  a 
year  at  least — twelve  long,  uncomfortable,  in- 
dustrious months.  Then  he  would  see  if  he  felt 
better  able  to  become  a  King.  Yes,  he  would 


"A  Swineherd  !"  155 

stay,  and  work,  and  be  obedient — he  would 
stay! 

And  all  the  buds  and  blossoms  on  the  little 
green  Wreath  began  to  whisper  again;  and 
this  time  they  said:  "Yes — yes — yes — " 

For  some  reason,  as  soon  as  he  had  made  his 
decision  and  put  the  Wreath  back  inside  his 
doublet,  the  King's  Son  felt  much  happier. 
Nothing  is  more  comforting  than  to  have  un- 
certain things  settled  once  for  all,  whether  for 
good  or  ill.  And  now  that  he  was  sure  that  he 
was  going  to  stay  in  Hellabrunn  for  the  pres- 
ent, the  Prince  found  himself  taking  a  much 
keener  interest  in  everything.  The  sun  looked 
brighter  and  the  linden  -  tree  smelled  sweeter. 
And  he  remembered  that  he  was  young  and 
strong,  and  that  there  was  just  as  much  hope 
of  wonders  and  adventures  before  him  as  there 
had  been  yesterday.  So  he  cheered  up. 

And  as  he  became  a  little  more  wide  awake 
he  noticed  the  sound  which  was  steadily  grow- 
ing in  the  streets — the  noise  of  excited  voices 
in  great  numbers.  Hellabrunn  was  restless  and 
impatient.  Every  one,  rich  and  poor  alike, 


156  Konigskinder 

was  out  and  gaily  dressed.  For  not  only  was 
it  the  yearly  Feast  of  Hella,  but  also  the  King's 
Day! 

The  morning  was  no  longer  young.  Already 
the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens.  Soon  it  would 
be  noon.  Soon  the  big  bells  would  ring  the 
hour  of  twelve,  and  then — well,  then  nobody 
knew  exactly  what  would  happen.  That  was 
why  they  were  so  excited. 

The  voices  were  coming  nearer;  the  people 
were  assembling  for  the  mid-day  hour.  From 
all  quarters  in  Hellabrunn  they  were  flocking 
toward  the  City  Gate. 

A  crowd  of  boys  dashed  into  the  square. 
They  were  in  wild  spirits,  and  romped  into  the 
Councilors'  Tribunal,  and  swarmed  up  the 
City  Wall  to  try  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  high- 
road over  the  top.  Of  course  they  all  hoped 
to  see  the  King  approaching.  But  the  Gate- 
keepers chased  them  all  away,  and  held  out 
their  great  spears  as  barriers. 

"Back!  Back!"  they  cried.  "No  one  may 
come  near  the  Gate  this  morning.  The  Coun- 
cilors have  given  the  command.  Neither  man 


"A   Swineherd!"  157 

nor  woman,  neither  girl  nor  boy,  neither  burgher 
nor  peasant — none  may  come  near  the  Gate!" 

People  were  now  pouring  into  the  square 
from  three  different  directions.  They  were 
chattering  together  like  so  many  sparrows. 
The  maidens  had  been  saving  up  for  months 
to  buy  finery  for  the  Hella  Festival  Day,  and 
their  ribbons  and  broideries  made  a  gay  show- 
ing. The  lads,  too,  had  bright  streamers  on 
their  sleeves,  flower-favors  tucked  into  their 
belts,  and  feathers  in  their  caps.  And  nearly 
every  one  had  beautiful  new  shoes,  for  dancing 
was  the  favorite  amusement  of  Hellabrunn's 
young  folk.  They  liked  to  dance  to  the  music 
of  bagpipes,  and  by  this  time  the  air  was  noisy 
with  the  whining  and  squealing  of  these  queer 
old  instruments. 

"None  may  come  near  the  Gate!"  droned  the 
Gate-keepers  as  the  square  filled. 

The  two  big,  red-clad  men  with  helmets  and 
spears  talked  together  in  undertones.  The 
King's  Son  heard  them,  but  he  did  not  know 
what  they  meant. 

"There's  not  a  man  but  would  like  well 


158  Konigskinder 

enough  to  be  near  the  Gate  when  the  clock 
strikes  noon!"  said  one  of  them. 

"The  nearer  the  better,"  said  the  other. 
"Though  for  a  fact  near  is  not  the  word;  say, 
rather,  through!  Aye,  any  one  would  be  glad 
to  be  going  through  the  Gate  at  twelve,  if  what 
I  hear  is  true!" 

'  'Twould  be  an  easy  way  to  get  oneself 
made  King,"  quoth  the  first.  "To  walk 
through  a  Gate!" 

A  woman  near  him  overheard,  and  said  to 
her  companion:  "Is  it  true  that  the  first  to 
enter  the  City  will  be  made  King?" 

"Yes,  and  no,"  replied  the  man  to  whom  she 
spoke.  "The  King  is  to  come  at  noon,  they 
say.  So  they  keep  the  Gate  closed  that  he 
may  be  the  first  to  enter." 

"Oh,  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  the  King?"  she 
sighed. 

Just  then  the  bagpipes  struck  up  a  strange, 
ancient  air,  and  the  girls  and  boys  cried: 

"That  is  the  'Dance  of  Spring!'  Let  us 
dance  the  Dance  of  Spring!  Dance — dance — 
dance!" 


"  A   Swineherd!"  159 

And  they  ran  into  the  center  of  the  square, 
and  caught  hands.  Then  they  danced  the 
Dance  of  Spring,  and  the  bagpipes  wailed,  and 
the  onlookers  shouted  their  encouragement 
and  admiration.  It  was  a  very  pretty  dance, 
full  of  graceful  steps  and  charming  poses,  and 
altogether,  with  so  many  attractive  people  and 
so  many  gay  costumes,  the  little  square  looked 
like  a  garden  in  bloom. 

"Dance — dance!  It  is  the  King's  Day!" 
cried  every  one.  And,  as  the  King's  Son  looked 
on,  he  wished  deep  down  at  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  that  he,  too,  could  dance  the  Dance  of 
Spring  on  the  King's  Day.  I  am  not  sure  that 
he  would  not  have  gone  up  to  one  of  the  pretty 
maidens  and  asked  her  to  dance  if  at  that 
moment  the  Innkeeper  had  not  come  out  of 
the  tavern. 

The  King's  Son  was  anxious  to  have  a  word 
with  this  person,  so  he  forgot  the  Dance  of 
Spring,  and  drew  near,  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
speak  to  him. 

The  Innkeeper  was  a  short,  fat  man  with  a 
jolly  red  face,  but  sly  and  angry  little  twinkling 


160  Konigskinder 

eyes.  He  wore  a  scarlet  cap  and  a  huge  white 
apron  caught  up  into  his  belt  at  one  side.  He 
was  a  person  who  had  two  sets  of  manners — one 
set  for  his  guests,  from  whom  he  might  get 
money,  and  one  set  for  his  servants,  to  whom 
he  had  to  give  it. 

Just  now  he  was  talking  loudly  and  roughly, 
for  he  was  overseeing  the  final  preparations 
for  the  day's  trade,  and  the  poor  maids  and 
apprentices  were  rushing  about  like  frightened 
chickens. 

The  Innkeeper  saw  that  the  crowd  was  going 
to  be  a  very  large  one,  and  he  rubbed  his  hands 
with  satisfaction.  There  would  be  many  casks 
of  wine  drunk  that  day! 

"Bring  some  planks!"  he  said  to  the  serving- 
lads.  "Bring  many  planks!  We  must  make 
plenty  of  extra  benches.  The  more  people 
who  can  sit  down,  the  more  will  order  food 
and  drink.  Aha!" 

They  rolled  out  empty  kegs,  and  laid  boards 
across  them,  until  there  were  quite  a  number 
of  benches  in  front  of  the  Inn  by  the  City  Gate. 
Already  several  persons  were  seated  and  giving 


"A  Swineherd  !"  161 

orders,  and  the  Bar-Maid  and  Stable- Maid  were 
hurrying  in  and  out  of  the  house  carrying 
pitchers  and  cups,  and  platters  of  hot  cakes. 

The  Innkeeper  gave  the  Bar-Maid  an  angry 
cuff  when  no  one  was  looking. 

"You  silly  wench!"  he  scolded.  "You  are 
pouring  out  too  much  of  my  good  wine !  Give 
them  half  measure — they  will  never  know  the 
difference.  And  when  the  casks  are  partly 
empty  fill  them  up  again  with  water.  These 
stupid  people  will  be  none  the  wiser;  they  do 
not  know  good  wine  from  bad!" 

The  Bar-Maid  scowled,  for  she  did  not  like 
him  any  better  than  she  did  his  daughter.  But 
she  went  off  obediently  to  pour  a  bucket  of 
water  into  one  of  the  half-empty  barrels  of 
wine,  grumbling  to  the  Stable-Maid  the  while. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Stable-Maid,  with  an  armful 
of  dirty  tankards  to  be  washed.  "This  is  the 
way  we  spend  the  King's  Day!" 

The  square  was  crowded  with  laughing,  sing- 
ing, chattering  people,  and  the  Dance  of  Spring 
went  on  faster  and  more  merrily  than  ever. 
And  the  sun  climbed  higher,  and  every  moment 


162  Konigskinder 

brought  the  hour  of  noon  closer  to  Hellabrunn 
Town. 

The  King's  Son  approached  the  Innkeeper. 

"Mine  host,"  he  said — for  so  they  used  to 
call  the  landlords  of  taverns  in  the  olden  days — 
"I  wish  you  a  very  good  morning." 

The  Innkeeper  turned  his  cross  little  eyes  in 
his  direction. 

"Can  you  spare  me  a  moment?"  went  on  the 
King's  Son,  politely.  "I  would  like  to  speak 
to  you,  if  I  may." 

"What  do  you  want?"  demanded  the  Inn- 
keeper, as  sharply  and  rudely  as  his  daughter 
would  have  spoken. 

"I  am  a  traveler — "  began  the  King's  Son. 

The  Innkeeper  looked  at  his  torn  doublet  and 
shabby  boots,  and  snorted  scornfully.  "A  trav- 
eler!" he  snapped.  "Where  is  your  horse?" 

"I  have  lost  my  horse,"  said  the  King's  Son, 
quietly,  thinking  of  his  beautiful  white  palfrey 
in  his  far-away  Kingdom. 

"You  can't  travel  far  without  one,"  said  the 
Innkeeper,  in  a  surly  way. 

"I  don't  want  to,"  returned  the  King's  Son. 


"A  Swineherd  !"  163 

"I — I — "  he  braced  himself,  and  took  the 
plunge.  "I  am  looking  for  work!" 

"What  sort  of  work?"  asked  the  Innkeeper. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  the  King's  Son. 

"You  know  what  you  can  do,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
the  Innkeeper,  gruffly.  "What  can  you  do?" 

The  King's  Son  was  ashamed  to  remember 
how  few  useful  things  he  knew  how  to  do. 

"I — I  am  used  to  horses  and  dogs,"  he  said, 
with  some  hesitation.  "I  could  do  anything 
in  a  stable  or  kennels,  I  am  sure.  And,"  he 
went  on,  bravely,  "I  can  do  odd  jobs!"  He 
tried  to  remember  what  working-boys  were 
supposed  to  say.  "You'll  find  me  quite — 
quite — quite  trustworthy  and  hard-working," 
he  finished,  delighted  with  himself. 

"H'm!"  grunted  the  Innkeeper.  "Trust- 
worthy and  hard  -  working,  eh  ?  It's  easy 
enough  to  give  yourself  a  good  reference.  But 
have  you  any  other?" 

The  King's  Son  smiled.  Most  people  loved 
him  when  he  smiled. 

"Come,  sir,"  he  said,  coaxingly,  "don't  be 
too  hard  on  me!" 


164  Konigskinder 

The  Innkeeper  considered. 

"I  only  need  one  servant  at  present,"  he 
said,  ungraciously,  "and  that  is  a  Swineherd." 

"A  Swineherd!"  gasped  the  King's  Son,  for 
this  was  really  too  much,  or  seemed  so,  when  he 
first  thought  of  it. 

"Yes;  some  one  to  look  out  for  the  pigs. 
And  as  you  say  you  are  fond  of  animals — " 
The  innkeeper  stopped  as  he  saw  the  boy's  ex- 
pression. 

"A  Swineherd!"  the  Prince  repeated,  with 
horror. 

The  Innkeeper  grunted  once  more. 

"H'm!  Doesn't  suit  you,  eh?"  he  said. 
"Oh,  well,  with  the  silly  face  and  finicky  ways 
of  a  young  lady,  you  couldn't  be  expected 
to—" 

The  King's  Son  flushed  deeply  and  stood  up 
very  straight  indeed.  He  set  his  jaw  rather 
hard.  Other  boys  had  to  be  swineherds;  very 
well.  He  could  be!  And  he  would  prove  to 
these  horrid  and  disgusting  people  that  no  pigs 
in  the  world  could  be  so  well  taken  care  of  as 
his  pigs. 


"  A   Swineherd  !" 


,65 


"If  you  can  give  me  nothing  else  to  do,  sir," 
he  said,  looking  straight  at  the  Innkeeper  and 
smiling,  "I  shall  be  very  glad  to  be  your 
Swineherd!" 


THE    DANCE    OF    SPRING 


-r-p-^T^r^ 

e^=^= 

Ki^r 

"  1 

-    '       '   ^*iil— 

12 

1 

CHAPTER   XII 
THE  KING'S  DAY 


THE    SONG    OF    THE     BROOM-MAKER  S    THIRTEEN 
CHILDREN 


' — S    »    * — r^ 

"Rah!    Ri !    Ro !      In  coach -es     we    will    go!' 


THE  Innkeeper  looked  hard  at  the  King's 
Son,  and  gave  a  little  nod.  He  was  a  rough, 
common  man,  but  he  liked  lads  of  spirit. 

"Right!"  said  he,  shortly.  "You  may  be- 
gin work  to-morrow." 

And  he  shook  hands  with  the  King's  Son. 

A  great  shouting  now  arose  in  the  crowd  at 
the  edges  of  the  square.  The  Innkeeper  turned 
to  his  tables  and  wine-kegs,  and  the  Royal 
Swineherd  was  again  left  to  his  own  devices. 

"I  suppose  I  can  do  it  if  I  try,"  he  reflected. 


The  King's   Day  167 

"I  said  I  would,  and  I  will.  But — a  Swineherd ! 
All  right!  Good  -  by,  King's  Son,  and  enter, 
Swineherd!" 

He  laughed  to  himself  and  sat  down  under  the 
linden  -  tree,  his  thought  slipping  back  again 
and  again  to  his  strange  Dream.  He  did  not 
hear  what  the  crowd  was  shouting,  and  if  he 
had  it  would  have  meant  nothing  to  him. 

"Long  live  the  Wood-cutter!  Long  live  the 
Broom-maker!"  they  cried.  "Hurrah!" 

"Hurrah!"  shrilled  the  Stable-Maid,  waving 
a  dish-cloth.  "And  hurrah  for  the  Broom- 
maker's  thirteen  children!" 

"Yes,  just  listen  to  them!"  chuckled  the  Inn- 
keeper. "What  is  it  they  are  yelling?" 

A  sound  of  children's  singing  came  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  as  the  laughing  people  made 
way  before  them  the  Broom  -  maker's  large 
family  came  trooping  into  the  square. 

The  little  Broom-maker  was  strutting  along 
with  great  pride,  for  he  and  the  Wood-cutter 
were  persons  of  vast  importance  upon  this,  the 
King's  Day.  Were  they  not  the  bearers  of  the 
Witch's  Prophecy  to  the  citizens  of  Hella- 


1 68  Kbnigskinder 

brunn  ?     You  may  be  sure  they  meant  to  make 
the  most  of  that  fact. 

The  thirteen  children  ranged  in  ages  from 
three  to  fifteen,  and  they  were  wonderfully  nice 
and  pretty  little  people,  when  one  considers  how 
horrid  their  father  was.  The  Broom-maker's 
arms  were  full  of  brooms,  newly  made,  for  he 
thought  that  his  children  ought  to  be  able  to 
sell  a  great  many  on  the  King's  Day.  The 
young  folk  themselves  were  in  the  merriest 
spirits,  and  skipped  along  gaily,  caroling  away 
at  the  tops  of  their  voices.  When  they  reached 
the  middle  of  the  square  they  took  hands  and 
danced  around  in  a  ring  singing  a  little  song 
which  they  had  made  up  themselves: 

"Rah!     Ri!     Ro! 

In  coaches  we  will  go! 
And  if  on  coaches  we  can't  count, 
Upon  our  broom-sticks  we  will  mount 

And  gallop  to  and  fro! 

"Ri!     Ro!     Ray! 

This  is  the  new  King's  Day! 
He's  coming  soon, 
This  very  noon, 

Ri!     Ro!     Ray!". 


The  King's   Day  169 

The  Broom-maker's  children  were  all  attrac- 
tive-looking, but  one  of  them  was  really  pretty. 
She  was  a  little  girl  about  nine  years  old,  with 
fair  hair  and  shy,  sweet  manners.  She  was  a 
pet  of  our  friend  the  Fiddler;  indeed,  every 
one  was  fond  of  her,  and  the  King's  Son  noticed 
her  particularly. 

When  they  had  finished  singing,  they  gath- 
ered around  the  Broom-maker,  who  handed 
them  each  a  broom  and  gave  them  their  in- 
structions. 

1 '  Now,  listen  carefully !' '  he  said.  ' '  When  the 
bells  toll  twelve  the  King's  carriage  and  train 
of  attendants  will  enter  the  City.  Then  you 
must  all  run  out  and  cry  your  wares  very  loud, 
so  that  His  Majesty  will  be  sure  to  hear  you. 
Push  your  way  through  the  crowd,  and  the 
minute  you  see  the  King  in  his  coach  call  out 
at  the  tops  of  all  your  lungs :  '  This  is  the  King's 
Day  I  Buy  a  King's  Broom  !  This  is  the  King's 
Day!  Buy  a  King's  Broom!'  Do  you  hear 
me?" 

The  thirteen  children  nodded  and  cried, 
' '  This  is  the  King's  Day !  Buy  a  King's  Broom !" 


170  Konigskinder 

to  show  that  they  understood.  Then  they  ran 
off  among  the  people,  carrying  their  brooms, 
and  calling  "Buy-a-broom!  Buy-a-broom!" 
in  sing-song  voices,  as  usual.  Some  house- 
wives bought,  and  others  did  not,  but  the 
Broom-maker's  children  had  a  good  time 
anyway. 

Now  along  came  that  horrid,  sly,  and  thor- 
oughly unpleasant  person,  the  Wood-cutter. 
He  was  putting  on  even  more  airs  than  the 
Broom-maker,  walking  along  very  slowly  and 
proudly,  with  pompous  steps,  and  holding  his 
head  exceedingly  high. 

The  Innkeeper  was  an  old  friend  of  his — in 
fact,  the  Wood-cutter  owed  him  money.  But, 
of  course,  the  bearer  of  the  Witch's  message 
would  have  nothing  to  say  to  the  simple  land- 
lord of  a  tavern.  So  he  stalked  by  without 
even  looking  at  the  Innkeeper,  who  promptly 
and  gruffly  shouted  to  him  to  stop. 

"Wood-cutter!     Hey!     Wood-cutter!" 

The  Wood-cutter  paused,  in  an  unwilling 
fashion.  He  stared  at  the  Innkeeper  coldly, 
and  said:  "Ah,  Friend  Innkeeper,  so  it  is  you! 


The  King's  Day  171 

I — h'm,  h'm!—  "  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket.  "I 
believe  I  am  a  trifle  in  your  debt!" 

He  hated  to  pay  out  money,  but  this  time 
he  feared  that  he  would  have  to  do  so.  He  put 
a  gold-piece  down  on  the  table.  It  was  one  of 
those  which  the  Councilors  had  paid  the  two 
on  their  return  the  night  before,  and  he  found 
it  heartbreaking  to  part  with  it.  But  he  laid 
it  down  as  though  he  were  quite  used  to  gold- 
pieces,  and  looked  at  it  and  then  at  the  Inn- 
keeper with  a  lordly  air. 

"There!"  said  he.     "There,  sir!" 

The  Innkeeper  felt  somewhat  better  tem- 
pered when  he  saw  the  money.  He  had  given 
up  all  hope  of  being  paid. 

"Oh,  well,  there  was  no  great  hurry!"  he 
said,  smiling,  but  keeping  his  eye  on  the  gold- 
piece. 

The  Wood-cutter  waved  his  hand. 

"Say  no  more,  fellow!"  he  exclaimed,  haugh- 
tily. "I  expect  to  be  high  in  the  favor  of  the 
new  King,  and  a  gold -piece  more  or  less  is 
nothing  to  me!" 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  Innkeeper,  with  his 


172  Konigskinder 

comfortable,  fat  chuckle,  "we'll  drink  a  bum- 
per or  two  with  it.  Some  of  my  best  wine  here, 
and  make  haste!"  he  called  to  the  Bar- Maid, 
motioning  to  her  secretly  to  water  it  well. 

During  the  moment  that  his  back  was  turned 
the  Wood-cutter  quietly  picked  up  the  coin  and 
put  it  back  in  his  pocket.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  quite  such  a  sly,  mean  man  as  he? 

"Now,"  said  the  Innkeeper,  turning  around 
again, "  I'll  take  your  money,  and  welcome, — Eh  ? 
It's  gone!" 

He  stared  at  the  bare  table  as  though  he 
could  not  believe  his  eyes.  There  was  not  a 
sign  of  a  gold-piece  there.  He  stooped  to  look 
more  closely,  glanced  under  the  table,  and 
gasped  with  surprise. 

"Does  the  table  leak?"  he  cried. 

"It  was  there  just  now,"  said  the  Wood- 
cutter, calmly.  "Some  one  must  have  stolen 
it — and  on  the  King's  Day,  too!" 

He  pretended  to  be  much  horrified. 

"How  terrible!"  he  sighed.  "How  shame- 
ful !  If  I  could  catch  the  thief  I  certainly  would 
give  him  a  beating.  Friend  Innkeeper,  I  am 


The  King's   Day  173 

so  sorry  that  you  have  lost  your  gold-piece!" 
And  he  strutted  away,  fingering  the  stolen  coin 
in  his  pocket  and  smiling  to  himself. 

The  King's  Son  had  watched  all  this  with 
some  amusement,  but  more  disgust.  He  did 
not  know  who  the  Wood-cutter  was,  though 
he  thought  he  looked  vaguely  familiar.  But 
he  could  see  plainly  that  he  was  a  niggardly 
and  dishonest  man,  and  niggardliness  and  dis- 
honesty were  the  two  things  which  the  King's 
Son  could  neither  understand  nor  forgive.  He 
did  not  interfere,  however,  but  sat  in  silence 
under  the  linden  -  tree  watching  the  merry- 
making and  dreaming  day-dreams. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  little  voice  close  to  him. 

"You!     Man!"  it  said,  softly. 

The  King's  Son  turned  in  a  quick,  cross  way, 
wishing  angrily  that  these  people  would  let 
him  alone.  But  it  was  the  Broom-maker's 
little  daughter  who  stood  beside  him.  She  was 
the  pretty,  fair-haired  one,  and  she  was  looking 
at  him  with  big,  blue  eyes,  and  holding  out  her 
new  broom,  which  was  taller  than  she  was. 
The  King's  Son  began  to  smile. 


174  Konigskinder 

"What  is  it,  my  child  ?"  he  asked,  kindly. 

The  little  fair  girl  hung  her  head.  She  was 
very  shy. 

"Buy-a-broom!"  she  said,  in  a  very  small 
voice.  Then  she  remembered  what  her  father 
had  said,  and  she  added:  "This  is  the  King's 
Day!  Buy  a  King's  Broom!" 

Of  course  the  Broom-maker  had  told  her  to 
wait  until  she  saw  the  King  before  she  said 
that.  Was  it  not  strange  that  she  should  have 
chanced  to  offer  her  wares  to  the  King's 
Son? 

"A  King's  Broom!"  he  repeated,  still  smiling, 
but  somewhat  puzzled.  He  was  delighted  with 
the  Broom-maker's  little  daughter. 

She  nodded. 

"My  dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand,  "I  can't  buy  the  King's  Broom,  though 
I  should  like  to."  And  he  laughed.  "I  have 
no  money!" 

As  he  looked  at  her,  her  fair  hair  and  gentle 
blue  eyes  reminded  him  of  the  Goose  Girl,  and 
he  kissed  the  child. 

"You  pretty  baby!"  he  said — for  the  Broom- 


The   King's  Day  175 

maker's  Daughter  was  very  little  for  her  age. 
"Won't  you  stay  with  me  a  moment?" 

The  little  girl  looked  at  him  gravely,  and 
then  smiled.  She  liked  the  King's  Son,  and 
felt  that  they  would  be  friends. 

"Will  you  play  with  me?"  she  asked. 

"Play  what?"  he  said,  finding  her  by  far 
the  nicest  person  he  had  met  in  Hella- 
brunn. 

"'Ring-around-a-rosy,'"  she  told  him. 

In  the  Contented  Kingdom  the  Prince  had 
never  played  games  that  had  to  be  played  with 
other  children,  because  there  were  no  other 
children  in  the  Kingdom  of  sufficiently  high 
birth  to  play  with  him.  So,  poor  boy,  he  knew 
nothing  of  ' '  Ring-around-a-rosy. ' ' 

"How  do  you  play  it?"  he  asked,  meekly. 

The  Broom-maker's  Daughter  danced  slowly 
and  seriously  around  in  front  of  him. 

"So!"  she  declared.  "Round — and  round — 
and  round — " 

The  King's  Son  laughed  outright. 

"I  never  could  play  that!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Then  you  must  be  quite  stupid!"  said  the 


176  Konigskinder 

Broom-maker's  Daughter,  not  rudely,  but 
simply  and  pityingly. 

"You  yellow-haired  rogue!"  he  cried,  merrily. 
"You  will  have  to  teach  me!" 

The  Broom-maker's  Daughter  took  his  hands 
and  led  him  around  in  a  circle,  while  she  sang 
the  rhyme  to  which  the  Hellabrunn  children 
played  the  game  of  "Ring-around-a-rosy." 
And  this  was  what  she  sang: 

"  Ring-around-a-rose-bush  red! 

My  mother  gaily  decked  me! 
A  Gosling  chased  me  while  I  fled, 

And  tore  my  frock  and  pecked  me! 

On  a  stool  my  mother  sat  me, 

While  the  Goose  was  laughing  at  me! 
Ring-around-a-rose-bush  red — " 

But  the  King's  Son  was  not  paying  strict 
enough  attention  to  suit  the  Broom-maker's 
little  daughter. 

"That  isn't  nearly  all!"  she  said,  severely. 
"You  have  to  duck  down  there.  And  then  you 
say,'  Hush!  Hush!' — so.  And  then  you  do 
ever  so  many  other  things!" 

She  explained  that  and  other  games  very 


The  King's   Day  177 

carefully,  and  the  King's  Son  was  really  in- 
terested and  amused,  and  entirely  charmed 
with  his  little  new  friend.  As  they  played  to- 
gether he  felt  younger  and  gayer  than  he  could 
remember  ever  feeling  as  a  child.  And  the 
Broom-maker's  Daughter  thought  that  this  big 
boy  was  very  much  the  nicest  that  she  had 
ever  known. 

A  little  ripple  of  excitement  was  passing 
through  the  crowd  by  the  City  Gate.  Voices 
were  heard  on  all  sides  saying  that  the  Coun- 
cilors and  other  important  men  of  the  town 
were  drawing  near.  Officers  with  heavy  pikes 
appeared,  pushing  the  people  back  and  clear- 
ing a  way  to  the  Tribunal.  The  townspeople 
murmured  together,  but  every  one  was  serious 
now.  Noon  was  near,  and  all  Hellabrunn  was 
deeply  interested  in  what  was  to  happen 
next. 

Then  the  Councilors  arrived,  dressed  in  rich, 
black  velvet  robes,  with  black  caps  and  heavy 
golden  chains.  They  were  all  dignified  men 
of  middle  age  or  older.  With  them  walked 
their  wives  and  daughters,  the  great  ladies  of 


iy8  Konigskinder 

the  City,  arrayed  in  beautiful  silks  and  rare 
jewelry,  with  the  queerly  shaped  head-dresses 
of  the  day. 

One  of  the  Councilors,  the  chief  of  them,  in 
fact,  for  whom  all  had  the  greatest  reverence, 
was  extremely  old.  His  beard  was  long  and 
white,  and  he  tottered  as  he  walked.  He  en- 
tered the  square  leaning  on  the  arms  of  two 
attendants,  and  people  whispered  about  him 
respectfully  as  he  was  helped  on  to  the  plat- 
form and  into  the  seat  of  honor.  When 
the  entire  Council  had  found  their  places 
in  the  Tribunal  the  people  broke  into 
cheers : 

"Long  live  the  Councilors!  Long  live  the 
Burgomasters  of  Hellabrunn!  They  will  give 
us  a  ruler!  Hail  to  the  King!  Hail  to  the 
Council !  Hurrah !  Hurrah !" 

The  King's  Son  and  the  Broom-maker's 
Daughter  stopped  their  play  to  watch  what 
was  going  on.  This,  too,  looked  rather  like  a 
game  to  the  Prince — this  excited  gathering  of 
townsfolk  and  the  talk  of  finding  a  King  at 
noon,  by  accident  as  it  were.  He  thought  of 


The  King's  Day  1 79 

the  noble  ceremonies  in  his  Kingdom,  the  whole- 
hearted celebrations  and  awe-inspiring  pag- 
eants, when  the  King  of  the  realm  was  crowned. 
And  he  smiled.  Then  he  noticed  that  a  com- 
plete hush  had  fallen  over  the  square,  and  that 
the  aged  Chief  Councilor  was  rising  feebly  to 
speak. 

' '  Dear  and  kind  people  of  Hellabrunn 
Town,"  he  began,  in  a  very  faint,  high 
voice. 

Nobody  could  hear  him.  They  frowned  and 
grumbled  to  one  another,  and  some  of  the 
more  daring  persons  cried  out:  "Louder! 
Louder!" 

"Might  as  well  try  to  hear  the  grass  grow!" 
muttered  some  one. 

"I  am  the  oldest  of  the  Councilors,"  the  old 
man  quavered  on,  "the  last  of  those  who  knelt 
in  farewell  homage  beside  the  old  King's  bed. 
When  he  died,  my  friends,  it  was  I  who  closed 
his  eyes.  He  was  a  good  man,  a  noble  sov- 
ereign, a  great  master."  He  wiped  away  a 
tear  and  shook  his  head. 

The  crowd  was  getting  somewhat  restless. 


180  Kbnigskinder 

They  did  not  want  to  hear  about  the  old  King, 
but  the  new  one;  and  the  ancient  Councilor 
bored  them.  More  than  one  voice  could  be 
heard  in  undertones  complaining  that  this 
prosy  old  person  was  going  to  talk  for- 
ever. 

"As  you  know,"  rambled  on  the  Councilor, 
"we  sent  to  the  Wise  Woman  of  the  Wood.  We 
sent  the  Wood-cutter — " 

At  this  point  the  impatience  became  too 
strong  to  restrain. 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  several  voices.  "The 
Wood  -  cutter  !  Let  the  Wood  -  cutter  tell 
us!" 

"So  be  it  then!"  said  the  old  Councilor. 
"Let  the  Wood-cutter  stand  forward!" 

And  then,  as  with  one  voice,  the  whole  Town 
Council  rose  and  spoke  impressively: 

"Stand  still,  all  men,  and  listen  well!  We 
are  forthwith  to  hear  the  message  from  the 
Wise  Woman  of  the  Wood — the  Prophecy  which 
announces  to  us  our  future  King!  Even  now 
the  hour  approaches;  even  now  he  is  drawing 
near;  suddenly  he  will  be  at  the  City  Gate. 


The   King's   Day 


181 


Listen  well,  people  of  Hellabrunn!     It  is  the 
King's  Day!" 


RING-AROUND-A-ROSE-BUSH    RED" 


i 


"Ring  -  a- roand  -  a  -  rose-bush  red!     Moth-er   gai  -  Ij    decked     me!" 

i  ..     i   


CHAPTER   XIII 

HELLABRUNN    AND   THE   KING'S   SON 

TWO    HELLABRUNN    THEMES 
L- 


I       t- 


^7      5  * 


-1- 


THE  Wood-cutter  walked  to  the  clear  space 
in  front  of  the  Tribunal,  and  bowed  solemnly, 
first  to  the  Council  and  then  to  the  people. 
The  King's  Son  moved  forward  to  listen,  and 
the  Broom-maker's  little  girl  ran  off  to  find 
her  brothers  and  sisters. 

"Burghers  and  fellow- townsmen,"  said  the 
Wood-cutter,  after  much  clearing  of  his  throat, 
"I  can  tell  you  that  we  had  a  hard,  rough 
journey  through  the  Witch's  Wood!" 


Hellabrunn  and  the  King's  Son    183 

You  see,  he  wanted  to  arouse  as  much  inter- 
est as  possible,  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  tell  a  story  which,  even  if  it  were  not  quite 
true,  would  be  certain  to  hold  the  attention  of 
his  hearers. 

"We  were  in  very  great  danger,"  he  went 
on,  after  pausing  to  see  the  effect  of  his  words. 
"Wolves  and  bears,  with  long,  shaggy  fur, 
black  boar  and  wild  cattle,  and  every  other 
kind  of  savage  beast  prowled  on  our  path,  snort- 
ing and  panting  on  all  sides  of  us." 

He  was  pleased  to  see  that  this  shocking  false- 
hood impressed  everybody.  But  just  as  he  was 
about  to  begin  again  the  King's  Son  stepped 
forward,  and  said,  politely: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  friend,  but  while  I  was 
passing  through  the  Forest  yesterday  I  think 
that  I  saw  you  go  by  at  a  little  distance — you 
and  your  comrade  there."  And  he  pointed 
to  the  Broom-maker.  "It  seemed  to  me  that 
you  were  having  no  great  trouble  then.  So 
far  as  one  could  see,  you  appeared  to  be  getting 
along  quite  easily." 

The  Wood-cutter  glared  at  him,   and  the 


1 84  Konigskinder 

Prince  added,  "There  was  a  third  fellow  with 
you — a  big  chap  who  strode  far  in  the  front, 
and  played  on  his  fiddle,  while  he  sang  a 
strange  song  with  a  very  good  tune  to  it." 

Everybody  looked  surprised,  for  they  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  Fiddler.  Now  they  re- 
membered that  he  certainly  had  started  out 
from  Hellabrunn  with  the  others.  For  the 
first  time  they  began  to  wonder  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  Was  it  possible  that  this  stranger- 
lad  had  really  seen  the  three  messengers  in  the 
Wood? 

But  the  Wood-cutter  was  furious.  He  did 
not  want  to  talk  about  the  Fiddler.  The 
Council  might  insist  on  taking  back  a  third  of 
the  gold  to  keep  for  him;  besides,  what  busi- 
ness had  this  ragged,  shabby  upstart  to  inter- 
rupt him — him,  the  Wood-cutter! — in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  narrative!  The  Wood-cutter  choked 
with  anger. 

"What  is  he  taking  about?"  he  demanded, 
fiercely.  ' '  He  doesn't  know  what  he  is  saying !" 

"But  it  is  true  what  he  says;  the  Fiddler  did 
go  with  you!"  spoke  up  a  little  man  near  by. 


Hellabrunn  and  the  King's  Son    185 

He  was  a  tailor,  and  a  very  timid,  humble  crea- 
ture, but  he  was  obstinate,  like  many  small, 
weak  persons.  "Where  is  the  Fiddler,  any- 
way?" 

"The  Fiddler!  The  Fiddler!"  raged  the 
Wood-cutter,  beside  himself  with  temper.  "I 
can  tell  you  that  your  Fiddler  is  not  worth 
chopping  up  for  sausage!  A  lot  of  good  he 
was!  If  you  could  only  have  heard  him  talk- 
ing to  the  Witch!" 

The  last  word  acted  like  a  bit  of  the  old 
hag's  own  magic;  everybody  began  to  talk  at 
once: 

"The  Witch!  Yes,  yes— the  Witch!  That's 
it!  Tell  us  the  message — tell  us  what  the 
Witch  said!  Quick,  quick!  Wood -cutter! 
Broom-maker!  What  did  the  Wise  Woman 
tell  you?  What  was  the  Witch's  Prophecy?" 

The  Wood-cutter  could  not  remember  the 
strange  rhyme  which  the  Witch  had  repeated 
in  the  dusky  clearing,  but  the  substance  of  it 
was  still  ringing  in  his  head  together  with  the 
echoes  of  the  ghostly  bells,  which  even  his 
stupid  brain  could  not  entirely  forget.  He 


1 86  Kb'nigskinder 

drew  himself  up,  and  in  a  very  loud,  impressive 
tone  he  cried: 

"  When  the  noon  bells  ring, 
Then  comes  the  King!" 

There  was  great  excitement  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  the  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom- 
maker  held  up  their  heads  more  loftily  than 
ever. 

The  Broom-maker  now  spoke,  gathering 
courage  from  the  important  position  held  for 
the  moment  by  the  Wood-cutter  and  himself. 

"The  King  is  coming  soon,"  he  cried.  "And 
we  shall  go  out  to  meet  him,  and  swear  to  be 
loyal  to  him!" 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  the  people,  eagerly.  "We 
shall  all  go  out  to  meet  him  and  he  will  give 
us  all  our  hearts'  desires!" 

But  the  King's  Son  was  now  too  much  in- 
terested to  merely  listen  and  wait  with  the 
others.  He  was  used  to  asking  questions  when 
he  was  curious,  so  he  promptly  approached  the 
Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker. 

"Did  I  understand  you  aright,  good  sirs?" 


Hellabrunn  and  the  King's  Son    187 

he  asked.  "Is  a  stranger  Prince  coming  to  the 
City?" 

"Well,  that's  as  may  be!"  said  the  Wood- 
cutter, crossly,  yet  pleased  to  be  asked  for  in- 
formation. "It  might  be  a  Princess.  It  would 
be  all  the  same!" 

The  King's  Son  listened,  amazed.  Never 
had  he  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  the  Content- 
ed Kingdom.  These  people  did  not  know 
whether  a  King  or  Queen  was  to  rule  over 
them! 

"A  descendant  of  Kings  is  coming  to  us!" 
declared  the  Councilor.  "A  Royal  Child  shall 
have  our  Kingdom  for  his  own.  What  do  we 
care  who  he  be,  so  that  he  be  royal!" 

A  new  and  rather  overpowering  thought 
came  to  the  King's  Son.  Here  was  a  realm  of 
people  eagerly  waiting  for  a  King.  And  here 
among  them  was  a  King — a  Prince,  born  and 
bred  to  the  Throne — a  Royal  Child!  A  King- 
dom was  going  begging — lying  at  his  feet,  it 
seemed.  Should  he  take  it  and  keep  it  and 
care  for  it?  Should  he  who  had  run  away 
from  his  own  subjects  accept  the  rulership  of 


1 88  Konigskinder 

this  stranger  country?  Should  he  who  had 
thrown  away  his  rightful  Crown  place  on  his 
head  the  Crown  of  Hella?  Yes  or  no?  Once 
he  had  said  that  one  who  had  been  born  a 
Prince  ought  to  be  able  to  make  himself  a 
King. 

.  .  .  Was  it  his  fancy  that  the  mysterious 
spell  of  his  Dream  seemed  to  be  coming  over 
him  once  more?  It  was  as  though  he  were 
apart  from  these  chattering  people,  surrounded 
by  faint  echoes  of  very  distant  bells.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  his  thoughts  cleared.  He  heard 
the  Wood-cutter  speaking.  That  worthy  man 
had  decided  that  he  had  remembered  all  that 
was  needed  of  the  Witch's  Prophecy.  Now  he 
was  going  to  try  a  little  inventing  of  his  own. 
And  this  is  what  he  said: 

"The  King  is  coming  in  a  gorgeous  royal 
coach  with  splendid  horses!  His  robes  will  be 
sewn  with  gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones! 
For  seven  hundred  years  people  will  talk  of  his 
magnificence." 

Do  you  remember  what  the  Witch  had  really 
said,  towering  over  the  men  in  the  weird  twi- 


Hellabrunn  and  the  King's  Son    189 

light,  and  striking  terror  to  their  hearts  with 
her  magical  power? 

"Even  a  vagrant  in  ragged  state, 
'Tis  he  that  shall  be  your  King!" 

You  see!  "Even  a  vagrant!"  Even  a  vag- 
rant! Even  one  as  poorly  clad,  as  unknown, 
as  empty  of  purse  as  the  King's  Son  himself! 
He  was  the  one  for  whom  they  waited — or 
might  be.  Yes,  that  was  what  the  Witch 
had  said.  But  the  Wood-cutter  had  forgot- 
ten it.  It  had  not  seemed  worth  remember- 
ing to  him,  you  see;  he  did  not  understand. 

Neither  did  the  people  of  Hellabrunn  under- 
stand. Of  course  it  appeared  quite  natural  to 
them  that  their  King  should  come  in  royal 
state.  They  could  not  imagine  a  Sovereign 
on  foot.  They  were  not  very  clever  people, 
anyway,  and  their  imaginations  were  badly 
trained. 

So  they  all  shouted: 

"Hurrah!  He  is  coming  in  a  royal  coach! 
Hurrah!" 

And  the  Broom-maker's  thirteen  children 
pranced  around  in  a  circle  and  loudly  sang: 


190  Konigskinder 

"Rah!     Ri!     Ro! 

How  merrily  we'll  go! 
Sweet  cowslip  wine  we'll  all  drink  up, 
And  crumble  cake  within  the  cup! 

Rah!     Ri!     Ro!" 

And  everybody  shouted:  "Long  live  the 
King!  Long  live  the  King!"  and  laughed 
and  waved  their  hands,  and  shouted  again. 

But  the  King's  Son  was  grave. 

"But  suppose  your  King  did  not  happen  to 
come  in  a  royal  coach?"  he  said,  gently;  and 
for  some  reason  every  one  who  heard  him 
stopped  talking  and  laughing  to  listen  more 
closely.  "Suppose  he  came  in  a  different 
fashion — even  in  rags  and  old  shoes?  Could 
you  not  welcome  a  King  even  if  he  were  on 
foot  and  wore  poor  clothes?" 

His  listeners  looked  puzzled.  They  wondered 
what  this  odd  boy  could  be  talking  about. 

"How  could  we  tell,  then,  that  he  was  the 
King?"  said  the  little  Tailor. 

The  King's  Son  drew  himself  up  haughtily. 

"Anybody  with  eyes  could  recognize  a  King, 
whatever  he  wore!"  he  said,  rather  contemptu- 
ously. 


Hellabrunn   and   the   King's   Son    191 

The  fat,  coarse-looking  Innkeeper  gave  a  hoarse 
chuckle  at  this  last  speech  of  his  new  servant. 

"From  the  airs  some  people  put  on,"  he  said, 
"you  can't  always  tell  a  King  from  a — Swine- 
herd!" 

And  he  laughed  till  his  stout  body  shook. 

The  people  were  chattering  loudly  together. 
The  sun  had  climbed  and  climbed  until  it  stood 
nearly  in  mid-heaven. 

"Our  King  is  going  to  do  everything  we 
want!"  cried  voices  on  all  sides.  "He  will 
make  everybody  happy,  and  we  shall  be  grate- 
ful to  him,  and  all  the  Kingdom  will  be  satisfied !" 

The  King's  Son  looked  at  the  plump,  stupid, 
comfortable  people  around  him,  and  thought 
that  they  needed  some  one  to  make  them  dis- 
satisfied— some  one  to  wake  them  up! 

"Is  it  a  make-believe  King  that  you  want, 
then  ?' '  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh.  ' '  A  puppet  ? 
Some  one  who  will  always  do  what  you  want, 
whether  it  is  good  for  you  or  not?  You  silly 
people!  What  would  you  do  if  a  real  King 
should  come  to  rule  you  ?" 

"Oh,  it  is  all  quite  simple!"  he  was  told. 


192  Konigskinder 

"The  King  will  have  to  meet  the  wishes  of  the 
Council,  and  of  course  the  Council  understands 
what  we  want  it  to  do!" 

"Why,  then,"  cried  the  King's  Son,  in  a  ring- 
ing tone,  "you  do  not  know  what  a  King  is!" 

"Oho!"  said  the  Wood-cutter,  spitefully. 
"And  of  course  you  do,  eh?" 

The  boy  had  forgotten  that  he  was  a  Swine- 
herd, a  wanderer,  a  penniless  beggar — forgotten 
that  he  was  anything  or  ever  had  been  any- 
thing but  a  King's  Son. 

"Your  King  will  make  you  build  castles  and 
become  great,"  he  said  to  them,  slowly.  "He 
will  teach  you  to  become  wise,  and  free,  and 
powerful.  He  will  bring  light  to  the  whole 
Kingdom,  and  lift  you  and  your  country  high — 
high — until  the  world  admires  you.  That  is 
what  a  true  King  will  do!" 

This  was  greeted  by  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"Poor  fool!"  they  cried.  "What  nonsense! 
Why,  hear  him!  Oh,  he's  mad,  of  course!" 

As  for  the  Innkeeper,  he  laughed  until  the 
tears  ran  down  his  fat  cheeks  and  he  was  so 
weak  he  had  to  sit  down  on  a  bench. 


Hellabrunn  and  the  King's  Son    193 

"Laugh  away!"  said  the  King's  Son,  grow- 
ing pale  with  anger,  as  he  heard  their  mirth. 
"Laugh  like  that  when  your  King  comes  to 
be  crowned!" 

There  was  one  person  who  had  been  watch- 
ing and  listening  with  breathless  interest.  It 
was  the  Innkeeper's  Daughter.  She  had  not 
forgotten  her  threat  to  punish  the  beggar 
youth  who  had  refused  to  be  patronized,  and 
who  had  said  that  a  Goose  Girl  was  prettier 
than  she.  It  occurred  to  her  that  he  was 
evidently  without  friends  in  Hellabrunn,  and 
that,  if  she  tried,  she  might  get  him  into  real 
trouble.  She  sidled  up  to  the  Innkeeper. 

"Father,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "keep 
your  eye  on  that  fellow.  He  may  try  to  slip 
away  without  paying  us!" 

Paying  and  not  paying  were  always  serious 
matters  to  the  Innkeeper,  so  he  stopped  laugh- 
ing at  once. 

"Here!"  he  called  to  the  King's  Son.  "Pay 
up!" 

The  King's  Son  faced  him  in  astonishment. 

"I  haven't  bought  anything!"  he  said. 


194  Konigskinder 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter  smiled  at  him  in 
an  extremely  disagreeable  manner. 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  pork  and  cabbage  ?" 
she  remarked.  "And  the  wine?" 

The  King's  Son  looked  at  her  so  steadily  that 
she  felt  a  little  ashamed  and  dropped  her  eyes. 

' '  I  asked  you  for  nothing, ' '  he  said,  quietly.  ' '  I 
could  not  eat  it,  as  you  know,  and  —  I  thanked 
you." 

He  turned  away.  But,  though  she  said  no 
more,  the  Innkeeper  stopped  him  again. 

"We  don't  want  your  thanks!"  he  said, 
roughly.  "I  want  my  money!" 

The  King's  Son  turned  his  wallet  inside  out, 
said  "Empty!"  briefly,  and  strolled  away  with 
his  back  to  the  Innkeeper. 

The  fat  man  choked  with  rage. 

"Thief  and  cheat!"  he  cried.  "He  is  try- 
ing to  get  away  without  paying  his  count! 
Stop  him!  Stop  thief!" 

In  a  moment  the  square  was  in  wild  con- 
fusion. Without  knowing  what  the  boy  had 
done,  all  these  horrid  Hellabrunn  people  were 
against  him,  because  he  was  young,  because 


Hellabrunn   and  the  King's   Son    195 

he  was  a  stranger,  and  because  they  liked  to 
be  cruel  and  hated  to  be  just. 

"Stop  thief!"  they  shouted.  "He's  a  rob- 
ber! He's  a  pickpocket!  Thrash  him!  Cud- 
gel him!  Stop  thief!" 

And  they  pressed  around  him,  shaking  their 
fists,  and  hooting  with  excitement. 

"He  stole  my  gold-piece !  I  know  he  did!" 
roared  the  Wood-cutter,  pulling  out  the  short 
axe  that  he  wore  in  his  belt.  "I'll  chop  him 
in  pieces!" 

"I'll  sweep  him  into  the  dust-bin!"  cried  the 
Broom-maker,  waving  a  new  broom. 

"I'll  cut  him  in  two  pieces!"  squeaked  the 
Tailor,  taking  out  his  big  shears. 

"I'll  mince  him  for  hash!"  howled  the  Inn- 
keeper, pounding  on  the  table  with  his  fat  fists,  and 
growing  every  moment  more  purple  with  rage. 

The  King's  Son  clasped  his  hand  to  his 
sword.  His  cap  had  fallen  off,  and  the  blazing 
sun  of  noonday  beat  on  his  head  like  liquid 
fire.  .  .  .  The  sun  of  noonday!  .  .  .  The  thought 
drifted  through  his  brain,  even  in  that  excited 
moment.  What  was  it  that  they  had  said  about 


196 


Konigskinder 


noon  ?  .  .  .  The  angry  faces  crowded  in  closer. 
He  was  one  against  the  Town — but  he  was  the 
King's  Son,  so  he  laughed  as  he  faced  them.  He 
grasped  the  handle  of  the  King's  Sword.  .  .  . 

A  slow,  magnificent  boom  echoed  across  the 
square.  And  silence  fell  like  death  upon  the 
clamor. 

Another — and  every  one  drew  a  long,  quiver- 
ing breath. 

It  was  the  Stroke  of  Noon! 

THE    TUMULT    OF   THE    BELLS 

"Cud -gel  him!  Cud -gel  him! 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE    STROKE    OF    TWELVE 
THE    GOOSE    GIRL   AT   THE    CITY    GATE 

The  music  of  her  entrance  into  Hellabrunn  is  the 
repetition,  first,  of  the  theme  heard  when  she  saw 
her  face  in  the  spring;  and  second,  of  the  melody  to 
which  the  King's  Son  asked  her  to  be  his  Lady.  In 
one  of  the  two  motifs  there  is  a  little  echo  of  the 
Witch's  Prophecy  as  well.  Can  you  find  it? 


f 


J. 


S==        I 

ri     -»         > 


:-W      ^ 


14 


198  Konigskinder 

CLANG! 

The  third  note  had  sounded.  The  crowd 
surged  toward  the  Gate,  but  the  keepers  pushed 
them  steadily  back. 

Clang! 

"Mid -day!"  said  the  Councilors,  solemnly. 
"Peace  there!  Let  all  stand  back  from  the 
King's  way!" 

Clang! 

Broken  whispers  were  heard:  "The  bells! 
The  bells!  What  is  going  to  happen?  It  is 
noon!  They  are  the  bells  of  noon!" 

Clang! 

Once  more  the  King's  Son  could  breathe. 
His  hand  dropped  from  his  sword-hilt.  He 
stood  motionless  in  the  center  of  the  square. 
No  one  noticed  him  now.  All  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  Gate;  all  thoughts  were  set  on  the 
coming  of  the  unknown  sovereign. 

Clang! 

In  the  brain  of  the  King's  Son  those  splen- 
did bells  rang  like  an  echo,  a  memory,  a  dream. 
.  .  .  That  was  it !  It  was  like  his  Dream  come 
true!  So  had  the  bells  clanged  through  the 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve  199 

Dream,  before  the  mysterious  blaze  of  sunshine, 
before.  .  .  . 

Clang! 

"Could  it  be  going  to  happen  ?"  he  murmured 
to  himself,  half  aloud.  "Can  she  be  coming 
out  of  the  dew  and  the  morning — the  dear 
little  girl  from  the  forest  clearing?  Will  she 
be  followed  by  her  white  Geese?  Will  her 
kerchief  be  gone,  and  her  yellow  hair  fall  about 
her?  It  is  too  impossible!  And  yet — and  yet 
— it  seems — " 

Clang! 

"Let  my  little  girl  stand  in  front!"  whis- 
pered one  of  the  women. 

"Why  she  more  than  another?"  demanded 
the  Tailor,  without  moving. 

Clang! 

Every  one  listened  breathlessly. 

"I  hear  the  hoof-beats!"  exclaimed  the 
Wood-cutter,  who  really  thought  he  did. 

"And  the  noise  of  wheels!"  added  the  Broom- 
maker,  excitedly. 

The  Gate-keepers  turned  to  the  huge  doors 
and  lifted  the  heavy  bolts.  There  was  not  a 


2oo  Konigskinder 

sound  in  the  square  except  the  fluttering  of  the 
people's  breaths  and  the  echo  of  the  bells. 

Clang! 

The  bolt  was  withdrawn.  The  two  Gate- 
keepers raised  their  hands  to  the  fastening. 
Time  seemed  to  stand  still  for  a  moment. 

Clang!    And  the  twelfth  stroke. 

The  great  doors  swung  open. 

And  there,  with  her  white  Geese  about  her, 
and  the  Crown  upon  her  gold-colored  hair, 
stood  the  little  Goose  Girl  in  the  sun ! 

Behind  her  stretched  the  bright  highway,  all 
golden  in  the  noon  light,  the  green  woods  and 
the  flower-filled  fields,  and  the  distant  grandeur 
of  the  Wonderful  Mountains.  Her  Geese  look- 
ed like  snow;  her  Crown  looked  like  flame, 
and  she  herself,  in  her  beauty  and  grace  and 
sweetness,  appeared  as  fair  and  perfect  a  little 
Princess  as  ever  came  to  a  City  Gate. 

So  had  she  looked  in  the  Dream.  So  had 
the  big  bells  pealed  and  died  away.  So  had 
the  sunlit  vision  broken  upon  him. 

"True!"  breathed  the  King's  Son,  looking 
at  her.  "My  Dream  come  true!" 


SHE    WENT    STRAIGHT    TO    THE    KING'S    SON 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve          201 

The  puzzled  people  still  stood  silent,  not 
knowing  what  to  say  or  do.  They  could  not 
understand  what  it  all  meant.  The  Goose  Girl 
had  never  seen  a  multitude  before;  it  was  her 
first  glimpse  of  Mortals.  But  although  she 
had  been  so  shy  and  timid  all  her  life,  she  was 
brave  now,  for  with  all  her  heart  she  wanted 
to  be  truly  royal. 

And  though  she  was  terrified  by  all  these 
crowds  of  waiting  folk  with  unfriendly  faces, 
and  by  the  strangeness  and  novelty  of  every- 
thing in  the  world,  she  smiled  fearlessly.  And, 
looking  very  sweet  and  stately,  she  walked 
quietly  into  the  Town  of  Hellabrunn! 

She  went  straight  up  to  the  King's  Son,  who 
stood  silently  waiting  for  her. 

"Dear  lad,"  said  the  Goose  Girl,  in  her  clear, 
gentle  voice,  "I  have  come  after  all.  I  was 
afraid,  but  now  I  have  stopped  being  a  cow- 
ard, and  shall  not  be  any  more.  I  have  found 
good  courage  and  a  light  heart,  and  you  see  I 
am  not  even  afraid  to  wear  your  Crown." 

The  King's  Son  felt  suddenly  very  proud — 
more  proud  than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 


2O2  Konigskinder 

Nothing  that  had  happened  to  him  seemed  at 
all  important  compared  to  the  facts  that  the 
Goose  Girl  trusted  and  cared  for  him,  that 
she  had  come  to  find  him,  and  that  one  day 
they  would  be  married  and  reign  together. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,"  he  said,  simply, 
but  with  shining  eyes.  He  went  up  to  her, 
and  she  put  out  her  hand  timidly.  But,  instead 
of  taking  it,  he  went  down  on  his  knee  and  said 
softly,  "Your  Majesty!" 

So  there  stood  the  Goose  Girl,  frightened  but 
pleased,  a  little  pale  but  smiling,  with  a  big, 
gold  Crown  on  her  head  and  the  King's  Son 
kneeling  at  her  feet.  What  a  pair  of  Royal 
Children,  and  how  good  to  look  at!  But  the 
people  of  Hellabrunn — ah!  Could  they  have 
been  expected  to  appreciate  how  kingly  they 
looked,  or  how  noble  they  were? 

As  the  Goose  Girl  stood  there  in  the  sun, 
and  the  King's  Son  knelt  before  her,  a  shout  of 
laughter  went  up  that  filled  the  streets  for 
blocks  around  with  its  harsh  echoes. 

"A  Goose  Girl!"  screamed  the  people  of 
Hellabrunn.  "Look  at  her!  Only  look  at  her 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve          203 

Geese!  And  her  skirt  is  patched!  And  she 
has  no  stockings!  A  Goose  Girl!  That's  what 
we've  been  waiting  for!  Oh,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 
A  Goose  Girl,  to  be  sure!" 

All  Hellabrunn  seemed  to  ring  with  that 
mocking  amusement. 

The  Councilors  did  not  laugh;  they  were 
indignant.  They  felt  that  they  had  been 
tricked  by  the  Witch  who  had  made  the  proph- 
ecy, and  by  the  Goose  Girl  who  had  dared  to 
take  advantage  of  it.  They  stood  in  the  Tri- 
bunal, puzzled  and  vastly  displeased. 

"A  Goose  Girl  to  be  Queen!"  they  exclaimed. 
"Impossible!  What  does  it  all  mean?  If  it 
is  a  joke,  it  is  a  very  ill-timed  one!" 

The  people  had  not  yet  had  time  to  be 
angry.  They  were  still  too  mirthful. 

Their  attention  was  drawn  for  a  moment 
from  the  boy  and  girl  in  the  center  of  the 
square  by  a  big,  friendly  voice  from  the  Gate- 
way. 

"May  I  say  a  word?"  cried  the  Fiddler. 

He  had  kept  back,  out  of  sight,  that  the  little 
Goose  Girl  might  enter  the  Kingdom  alone. 


204  Konigskinder 

But  he  was  close  at  hand  all  the  while,  and  now 
he  strode  in,  smiling  cheerfully  at  everybody. 
He  carried  his  fiddle  slung  to  his  shoulder,  his 
cap  was  a  bit  on  side,  and  he  was  evidently  well 
pleased  with  the  world. 

But  his  look  changed  when  he  saw  the  scorn- 
ful and  sneering  faces  around  the  two  young 
people  whom  he  wished  to  befriend.  He  was 
distressed — even  shocked.  He  was  something 
of  a  poet,  was  the  Fiddler,  a  lover  of  Fairy 
Folk,  and  a  believer  in  signs  and  wonders.  He 
could  hardly  believe  that  these  Hellabrunn 
citizens  would  be  such  dunces  as  to  refuse  to 
acknowledge  the  Goose  Girl  as  Queen.  He 
knew  what  the  Witch's  Prophecy  had  been. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  City  would  pay  no 
attention  to  it?  Was  it  possible  that  they 
would  dare  to  laugh  at  the  maiden  sent  to 
them  in  such  a  wonderful  and  impressive  way  ? 
The  Goose  Girl  stood  quite  bravely  among 
them,  shrinking  slightly  from  the  loud  laughter, 
the  pointing  fingers,  the  merciless  eyes,  and  the 
cruel  jests — but  holding  her  head  high.  She 
kept  forcing  herself  to  remember  that  only 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve          205 

peasants  were  cowards,  and  that  she  was  wear- 
ing a  Crown. 

The  King's  Son  was  on  his  feet  now,  his  face 
growing  darker  and  darker  as  he  faced  their 
tormentors. 

Foremost  among  the  scoffing  folk  was  the 
Innkeeper's  Daughter.  She  saw  that  the  King's 
Son  had  told  the  truth:  the  Goose  Girl  was 
prettier  than  she,  and  she  hated  her  for  it. 
Her  laughter  was  the  shrillest  of  all. 

"A  common,  ragged  wench!  A  serving- 
maid!  A  beggar-girl!"  she  shrieked.  "The 
Fiddler  is  making  game  of  you,  take  my  word 
for  it!  She  came  with  him,  and  he  is  nothing 
but  a  vagrant  and  an  outlaw!" 

"  It  is  a  gang  of  thieves !"  bellowed  the  Wood- 
cutter, breaking  in  savagely.  "That  tattered 
boy  there  is  working  with  her,  and  the  Fiddler, 
too!  They  are  banded  together  to  trick  and 
cheat  us!" 

The  shouts  became  fiercer,  and  there  was  less 
laughter.  Hellabrunn  was  beginning  to  be 
offended.  They  had  planned  to  welcome  a 
King  or  Queen,  and  these  beggars,  these  com- 


206  Konigskinder 

mon,  wandering  rogues,  were  making  a  jest  of 
them ! 

Their  faces  grew  ugly,  and  there  were  mut- 
terings  of  anger. 

The  Fiddler  raised  his  hand  sharply. 

"Fools!"  he  cried,  violently.  "Can  you  not 
understand?  Do  you  not  see  the  Crown?" 

"If  they've  a  Crown  they've  stolen  it!" 
snarled  one  man.  And  others  caught  up  the 
cry: 

"Stolen!  Stolen!  They  are  both  thieves! 
We  knew  it  from  the  first!" 

"Shall  we  endure  it?"  demanded  the  Wood- 
cutter, roughly.  "Shall  we  stand  this  trick? 
Shall  we,  the  Burghers  of  Hellabrunn,  we  the 
Citizens,  we  the  Tradesmen,  let  ourselves  be 
made  a  mock  of  by  these  rascals?  Neighbors 
and  good  wives,  shall  we  bear  it?" 

"No!  No!"  shouted  the  rest,  and  made  a 
rush  for  the  two  young  people. 

But  the  King's  Son  was  ready,  with  his  sword 
in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  blazing. 

"Have  a  care!"  he  cried,  in  a  new  voice. 
"This  is  the  Queen!  Do  not  so  much  as  touch 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve          207 

a  fold  of  her  gown,  or  you  shall  feel  the  King's 
Sword!" 

The  Goose  Girl  pressed  close  to  him,  but  she 
did  not  cry  nor  tremble.  She  only  grew  very, 
very  white.  Was  this,  then,  what  it  meant  to 
be  royal  and  to  wear  a  Crown  ? 

"A  Royal  Pair!"  sneered  the  Innkeeper;  but 
he  kept  out  of  the  way  of  the  King's  Sword. 

"The  Goose  Girl  and  the  Beggar  Boy!"  cried 
the  Innkeeper's  Daughter,  with  glittering  eyes. 

"With  the  Geese  for  subjects!"  chuckled  the 
Stable-maid.  The  poor  Stable-maid !  She  was 
not  ill-natured,  but,  of  course,  she  thought  it 
all  a  very  great  joke. 

The  Fiddler  faced  them,  filled  with  honest 
fervor  and  indignation. 

"You  idiots!  You  madmen!"  he  exclaimed, 
in  his  big,  deep  tones.  "Are  you  as  blind  as 
all  that?  Can't  one  of  you  tell  the  blood  and 
spirit  of  Kings  when  you  see  it?"  His  voice 
checked  the  hubbub  for  a  moment.  "Do  you 
not  know,"  he  thundered,  "that  these  are  Royal 
Children?" 

There  was  a  second's  pause.     Then  a  little 


208  Konigskinder 

voice,  very  clear  and  high,  spoke  up  from  the 
depths  of  the  crowd. 

"Long  live  the  King!"  called  the  Broom- 
maker's  Daughter. 

The  King's  Son  felt  his  lips  quiver.  No 
other  voice  echoed  the  loyal  cry. 

Instead,  the  tumult  broke  out  more  fiercely 
than  ever.  The  rage  of  the  people  spent  itself 
first  upon  the  Fiddler.  They  seized  him,  and 
bound  him,  with  shouts  of  anger. 

"You'll  be  locked  up  in  a  dungeon!  You'll 
be  locked  up  in  a  dungeon!"  cried  the  Broom- 
maker,  jumping  up  and  down  in  wild  excite- 
ment and  spiteful  joy. 

The  Fiddler  struggled  furiously  with  the  men 
who  held  him,  but  he  was  one  against  many, 
and  in  spite  of  his  great  size  and  strength  he 
was  finally  overpowered  and  dragged  away. 

So  the  King's  Son  and  the  Goose  Girl  lost 
their  last  friend.  For  the  Broom  -  maker's 
Daughter  could  only  say,  "Long  live  the 
King!" 

They  stood  among  the  muttering,  wrathful 
people,  poor  boy  and  girl, — very  pale,  but  quite 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve          209 

brave  and  proud.  The  Crown  was  still  on  her 
head,  and  he  still  held  the  King's  Sword. 

The  Councilors  were  all  on  their  feet  in  the 
Tribunal.  One  raised  his  hand,  and  there  was 
silence. 

"The  Festival  is  over!"  was  the  word  of  the 
Council  of  the  Town. 

The  people  spoke  as  though  with  one 
voice : 

"And  what  shall  we  do  with  the  'Royal 
Children?'" 

The  answer  of  the  Councilors  came  sternly: 

"Drive  them  out  of  the  City!" 

There  was  a  shriek  of  cruel  delight.  The 
Council  told  them  to  do  just  what  they  were 
longing  to  do.  The  whole  crowd  turned  upon 
the  King's  Son  and  the  Goose  Girl  and  swept 
them  to  the  great  Gate  and  through  it.  The 
air  was  filled  with  stones,  sticks,  everything 
that  could  be  thrown. 

So,  pushed,  beaten,  pelted,  stoned,  in- 
sulted, the  Royal  Children  were  driven  out  of 
the  Town,  and  the  loud,  merciless  voices  echoed 
in  their  ears  as  they  stumbled  down  the  high- 


2io  Konigskinder 

road  in  the  hot  sun.  The  King's  Sword  was 
clutched  uselessly  in  the  Prince's  hand;  the 
Crown  was  heavy  on  her  head.  They  were 
overcome,  driven  forth,  beggars  and  outcasts 
henceforward. 

And  that  was  how  the  people  of  Hellabrunn 
treated  the  Royal  Children  who  had  been  sent 
by  destiny  to  reign  over  them. 

In  the  square  by  the  City  Gate  there  was 
soon  no  one  left  but  the  Broom-maker's  little 
daughter  and  the  aged  Councilor,  who  could 
not  walk  as  fast  as  the  others. 

The  child  was  crouching  on  the  steps  of  the 
Tribunal,  crying  as  though  her  heart  would 
break. 

The  old  man  stopped  beside  her  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"What  is  the  matter,  little  girl?"  he  asked, 
kindly.  "Why  do  you  cry  like  that?  Have 
you  lost  one  of  your  brooms?" 

"No,"  said  the  Broom-maker's  Daughter, 
sobbing.  "I  am  crying  because  it  was  the 
King  and  Queen  you  drove  away." 


The  Stroke   of  Twelve 


2  1  1 


THE  END  OF  THE  KING  S  DAY,  WHEN  THE  ECHOES  OP 
THE  MAGIC  BELLS  AND  THE  WITCH'S  PROPH- 
ECY JANGLED  OUT  OF  TUNE 


J 


-r- 


PART   III 
THE   FOREST 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    SORROWS   OP   THE    FIDDLER 
WHEN    WINTER    CAME    TO    THE    MAGIC    WOOD 


•J                   1       "  k       I 

A  GREAT  many  things  happened  after  the 
Royal  Children  were  stoned  out  of  the  City  of 
Hellabrunn.  The  townspeople  were  very  much 
excited  and  upset  by  their  disappointment  on 
the  King's  Day.  The  Council  had  really  en- 
couraged instead  of  checking  their  cruelty,  and 
it  seemed  to  go  to  their  heads.  I  think  that 
they  were  all  of  them  half  mad  for  a  time. 
Mobs  of  people  do  get  crazed  sometimes,  you 
know,  and  then  there  are  Revolutions  and 
other  horrors.  That  was  the  way  with  the 
people  of  Hellabrunn. 


216  Kbnigskinder 

There  was  no  one  to  make  them  stop,  for  the 
Council  had  allowed  them  to  drive  out  the 
Royal  Children,  and  after  that  they  had  no 
more  respect  for  the  Council.  So  they  did  some 
dreadful  things,  and  were  hideously  miserable, 
as  Cities,  like  persons,  are  when  they  are  wicked. 

There  were  only  two  deeds  of  theirs  that 
concern  us.  The  first  was  the  burning  of  the 
Witch. 

They  killed  her,  because  they  said  she  was 
not  a  true  Wise  Woman,  and  had  made  a  fool- 
ish and  misleading  Prophecy.  And  that  only 
shows  how  utterly  stupid  they  were.  For  if 
they  had  heeded  the  Prophecy,  the  Royal  Chil- 
dren would  have  ruled  over  them,  and  Hella- 
brunn  would  have  been  peaceful  and  good  in- 
stead of  restless  and  cruel. 

Anyway,  they  burned  her  up — the  bad  old 
Witch,  who  had  harmed  so  many  Mortals  in 
her  day,  who  had  lived  for  evil  and  darkness 
alone,  who  had  ill-treated  the  Goose  Girl,  and 
put  out  her  Star,  but  who  had  been  a  Wise 
Woman  nevertheless,  and  had  sent  a  truthful 
Prophecy  to  Hellabrunn. 


The  Sorrows  of  the  Fiddler     217 

So  there  was  an  end  of  her. 

The  Fiddler  was  locked  up  in  a  dungeon,  as 
the  Broom-maker  had  declared  he  would  be. 
There  was  no  just  charge  against  him,  but 
these  citizens  did  not  care  whether  they  were 
just  or  not.  This  sort  of  trouble  always  comes 
when  there  is  no  proper  government — as  you 
can  tell  when  you  read  the  history  books. 

They  ill-treated  the  poor  Fiddler,  starved 
him,  and  abused  him  most  grievously.  And 
if  it  had  not  been  for  his  great  strength  and  his 
brave  heart  he  would  have  died  from  weak- 
ness and  from  sheer  discouragement.  He  grew 
gray  and  bowed,  like  an  old,  old  man,  and  he 
could  only  walk  with  a  limp,  for  he  had  been 
so  cruelly  used  that  one  leg  would  always  be 
lame.  He  never  despaired,  however,  but  waited 
patiently  to  be  set  free. 

He  did  not  have  his  fiddle  to  comfort  him, 
for  he  had  managed  to  give  it  secretly  into  a 
friend's  keeping.  But  he  knew  that  if  he  ever 
should  get  out  of  the  dungeon  he  could  play  on 
it  again.  He  often  thought  of  it,  and  he  sang 
his  favorite  airs  softly  to  himself  in  the  prison. 


2 1 8  Konigskinder 

He  was,  as  I  have  said,  half  starved,  for  his 
jailers  often  forgot  to  give  him  even  the  bread 
and  water  which  were  necessary  to  keep  him 
alive.  But  the  Broom-maker's  little  fair-haired 
daughter  used  to  creep  to  the  prison  secretly 
and  give  him  food  through  the  bars.  She  would 
cry  to  see  him  there,  and  they  would  talk  soft- 
ly together.  Then  she  would  steal  away  as 
quietly  as  she  had  come ;  and  no  one  ever  knew 
of  her  visits  to  the  dungeon. 

The  Fiddler  had  one  thought  always  before 
him,  which  kept  him  from  brooding  over  his 
own  troubles.  He  was  worrying  about  the 
Royal  Children,  and  wondering  where  they 
were.  The  Broom-maker's  Daughter  had  told 
him  the  terrible  story  of  how  they  were  stoned 
out  of  Hellabrunn.  The  very  idea  of  it  filled 
him  with  rage  and  pain.  And  he  knew  that 
they  were  without  friends,  without  shelter,  and 
without  money;  and  he  feared  that  they  must 
need  him  sorely. 

You  see,  the  dear  Fiddler  was  used  to  being 
needed;  and  he  thought  it  likely  that  they  had 
greater  need  of  him  than  any  one  had  ever  had 


The  Sorrows  of  the  Fiddler     219 

before.  The  thought  that  he  could  not  help 
nor  comfort  them  in  their  distress  was  a  steady 
grief  to  the  good  and  generous  man.  He  de- 
termined to  go  at  once  in  search  of  them  as 
soon  as  he  should  be  free. 

But  when  at  last  the  cruel  townspeople  set 
him  at  liberty  it  was  winter,  and  the  hillside 
was  white  with  snow. 

Now  that  he  was  in  truth  free,  he  did  not 
know  how  to  look  nor  where  to  go.  Here  in 
the  Town,  where  he  had  fiddled  and  sung  and 
told  tales  for  so  many  years,  he  was  an  outcast, 
a  stranger.  People  would  not  look  at  him  nor 
speak  to  him,  partly  because  they  could  not 
understand  him,  and  therefore  distrusted  him, 
and  partly  because  they  were  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing treated  him  badly. 

When  he  asked  questions  about  the  Royal 
Children  he  was  met  with  silence.  He  was 
frantically  angry  with  them  for  giving  him  no 
tidings  •  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  knew  no 
more  of  the  unlucky  girl  and  boy  they  had 
driven  away  than  he  did.  More  than  one  re- 
morseful Burgher  had  made  searching  in- 


22O  Kdnigskinder 

quiries  along  the  highroad,  and  the  Broom- 
maker's  Daughter  had  called  and  called  through 
the  outskirts  of  the  woods,  but  nothing  could  be 
learned  concerning  the  Royal  Children. 

The  Fiddler  saw  clearly  enough  that  he  was 
unwelcome  in  Hellabrunn.  And  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  he  asked  nothing  better  than 
to  say  good-by  to  the  Town  forever.  .  .  .  Except 
the  children !  He  would  miss  his  small  f  riendsi 
But  that  could  not  be  helped.  He  must  go 
far  away  from  this  brainless  and  unkind  City, 
and  never  see  it  again.  And  perhaps — who 
could  say? — he  might  find  his  dear  Royal 
Children. 

He  hunted  out  his  fiddle,  said  good-by  to  the 
Broom-maker's  Daughter,  and  left  Hellabrunn. 
And  as  he  passed  out  through  the  City  Gate, 
he  made  a  vow  never  to  enter  it  again.  Many 
people  heard  him  make  it.  And  they  were  glad 
to  see  him  go.  His  bent  form,  his  limp,  his 
pale  face,  and  his  grizzled  hair  had  been  a 
reproach  to  them. 

As  for  the  Fiddler,  he  set  his  face  to  the 
mountainside,  and  started  on  his  slow  and 


The  Sorrows  of  the  Fiddler     221 

painful  wanderings.  Once  more  he  climbed  the 
steep  and  overgrown  \vay  that  led  to  the  Witch's 
Hut.  But  now  the  snow  slipped  under  his  foot. 
And  the  rocks  by  which  he  steadied  himself 
were  glare  ice.  Once  more  he  pressed  through 
the  Enchanted  Wood;  but  all  the  magic  in  the 
world  could  not  keep  the  trees  green  in  the 
bitter  cold. 

The  Black  Marsh  was  frozen  over,  and  icicles 
hung  from  the  bare  boughs  of  the  big  trees. 
The  hollows  where  the  Witch  had  dug  for 
roots  and  gathered  herbs  and  toadstools  were 
swept  by  snowy  gales  and  heaped  with  dead 
leaves. 

The  Fiddler  felt  heart-sick  as  he  toiled  over 
the  dreary  way.  The  frost  lay  heavy  on  the 
land;  what  hope  had  he  of  tracing  the  King's 
Son  and  the  Goose  Girl  in  the  snow?  The 
great  drifts  would  blot  out  their  footsteps;  the 
howling  blasts  would  drown  their  voices;  in 
the  vast  and  terrible  world  of  winter  they 
would  be  lost.  And  he — how  could  he  find 
them  ?  He  was  lame  and  feeble,  and  suddenly 
old.  He  could  not  journey  through  this  wild 


222  Konigskinder 

forest  seeking  them  by  day  and  night  without 
shelter  and  without  food. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  found  him- 
self in  the  Witch's  clearing  again  after  so  many 
months.  Once  it  had  been  warm  and  green, 
and  as  lovely  as  it  was  lonely.  The  little  Hut 
had  been  mysterious  but  interesting.  He  re- 
membered waiting  outside  in  the  summer  moon- 
light, with  the  suspicion  of  witchcraft  and 
magic  abroad.  Now  the  water  was  frozen  in 
the  spring,  and  the  tumble-down  roof  was  full 
of  ragged  holes  torn  by  the  tempests.  On  all 
sides  the  still,  white  woods  were  wrapped  in  a 
melancholy  hush.  If  there  were  any  super- 
natural beings  about,  the  Fiddler  was  sure  that 
they  must  all  be  Ghosts,  and  Mist  Folk,  and 
sad- voiced  Women  of  the  Wind. 

He  could  not  say  what  instinct  had  led  him 
to  the  Hut.  He  had  had  no  hopes  of  finding 
it  other  than  it  was.  It  would  serve  as  a  bare 
shelter,  no  more.  Yet  here  he  resolved  to 
stay.  Where  the  wicked  Witch  had  lived,  an 
outcast  from  Mortal  people — here  the  good  Fid- 
dler, also  an  outcast,  would  take  up  his  dwelling. 


The   Sorrows   of  the   Fiddler     223 

And  here  he  did,  in  fact,  make  his  home. 
From  time  to  time  he  was  seen  by  people  from 
the  Valley,  for  he  was  much  given  to  wander- 
ing. But  he  never  entered  Hellabrunn.  What 
food  he  had  he  got  from  the  farming  folk  out- 
side the  City  Gate  and  from  travelers  upon 
the  highway.  In  exchange  for  these  stray 
handfuls  of  grain,  stale  loaves,  and  cups  of 
milk  he  gave  due  payment  in  the  form  of 
music.  But  he  was  no  longer  the  Fiddler  of 
the  past,  and  his  songs  were  mostly  sad 
ones. 

In  the  chilly,  barren  little  Hut  he  would  play 
to  himself  upon  his  beloved  fiddle,  strange, 
plaintive  melodies  that  seemed  like  sorrowful 
voices  singing  of  old  dreams. 

The  Witch's  favorite  beasts,  the  Cat  and  the 
Raven,  had  disappeared.  Perhaps  they  had 
gone  to  take  service  with  another  Sorceress. 
In  any  case,  they  had  left  the  clearing.  But 
the  Little  Gray  Doves  had  stayed.  Through 
the  first  frost  and  then  the  snowstorms  they 
had  clung  to  the  trees  they  knew  and  loved, 
and  day  after  day  they  had  flown  anxiously 


224  Konigskinder 

about  the  Hut,  hoping  that  their  old  friend, 
the  Goose  Girl,  would  wonderfully  appear 
and  feed  them  once  more  with  crumbs  and 
grain. 

When  the  Fiddler  came  there  to  live  they 
adopted  him  joyously.  Every  morning  and 
evening  they  would  flutter  down  to  his  door- 
step to  see  what  he  had  for  them  to  eat.  And 
there  was  always  something.  For  the  Fiddler 
loved  birds  as  he  loved  all  small  things — as, 
most  of  all,  he  loved  children. 

He  missed  the  friendship  of  the  Hellabrunn 
children  sadly,  and  often  thought  with  tender- 
ness and  regret  of  the  old  stories  he  had  told 
them  and  the  quaint  little  songs  he  had 
sung. 

And,  if  he  could  have  known  it,  the  children 
of  Hellabrunn  were  mourning  for  him  more 
deeply  even  than  he  for  them.  For  very  queer 
things  had  grown  out  of  the  troubles  in  Hella's 
capital:  There  was  a  Conspiracy  among  the 
children ! 

You  know  a  Conspiracy  means  that  a  num- 
ber of  people  are  banded  together  for  secret 


The  Sorrows  of  the   Fiddler 


225 


ends;  and  certainly  the  Hellabrunn  young  folk 
were  secret  enough!  I  am  afraid  it  was  very 
naughty  of  them,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  they  had 
begun  to  regard  all  grown-up  persons  as  out- 
siders?— and  rather  nasty  outsides  at  that! 
They  looked  at  them  disapprovingly,  whispered 
together  in  corners,  and  even  disobeyed  them 
occasionally  in  the  coolest  and  most  indifferent 
way. 

And  why  did  the  little  people  of  Hellabrunn 
behave  so  badly?  Because  the  Grown-ups 
had  stoned  the  Royal  Children  out  of  the 
Town,  and  had  treated  the  dear  Fiddler  so 
cruelly  that  he  had  gone  away  forever.  They 
could  not  forget  these  two  dreadful  things,  and 
they  talked  about  them  to  one  another  secret- 
ly until  they  could  not  forgive  them  either. 
You  know  they  felt  that  the  King's  Son  and 
the  Goose  Girl,  being  young  themselves,  had  in 
some  way  belonged  to  them.  And,  of  course, 
they  were  quite  sure  that  the  Fiddler  did !  And 
it  seemed  to  them  too  heartless  to  be  robbed 
at  once  of  their  dearest  and  best  friend  and  of 
their  boy  King  and  girl  Queen ! 


226  Konigskinder 

How  touched  the  Fiddler  would  have  been 
if  he  could  have  known  that  the  Conspiracy  of 
the  Children — as  the  Hellabrunn  Grown-ups 
called  it — had  just  two  ends  in  view:  one  to 
bring  him  back  to  the  City,  the  other  to  find 
the  poor  youth  and  maiden  who  had  been  cast 
out  in  such  a  hard-hearted  fashion.  They  even 
made  up  small  search-parties,  and  hunted  the 
woods  around  for  signs  of  the  lost  ones.  But 
they  did  not  dare  to  go  very  far  away  from  the 
houses  and  streets  that  they  knew,  and  each 
time  had  to  come  sadly  home  with  no  pros- 
pect of  success. 

At  last  they  found  out  that  the  Fiddler  was 
living  at  the  Witch's  Hut,  not  so  very  far 
away.  If  they  could  only  get  some  of  their 
Grown-ups  to  go  with  them!  They  were  quite 
certain  that  if  they  could  see  their  old  friend, 
they  could  induce  him  to  come  back  to  them 
again.  And  they  were  confident,  too,  that 
he  would  help  them  to  find  the  Royal  Chil- 
dren. 

Well,  they  were  so  determined  about  it,  these 
obstinate  little  people,  that  after  a  while  the 


The   Sorrows  of  the   Fiddler     227 

Grown-ups  found  that  they  would  have  to  think 
the  matter  over  seriously.  The  worst  of  it  was 
that  they  knew  the  Children  were  right!  The 
citizens  of  Hellabrunn  had  behaved  wickedly, 
and  they  began  to  wish,  now,  that  they  had 
granted  the  Witch's  Prophecy  one  chance,  and 
let  the  King's  Son  and  the  Goose  Girl  rule 
them — for  a  little  while  at  least.  As  for  the 
Fiddler,  they  were  really  sorry  for  the  way 
they  had  acted  toward  him;  and  they  knew 
besides  that  they  would  have  no  peace  in 
the  Town  until  the  children  had  him  back 
again. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  a  second  party 
was  sent  out  from  Hellabrunn  to  climb  to  the 
Witch's  dwelling. 

Again  it  was  headed  by  the  Wood-cutter  and 
the  Broom-maker,  who  were  a  trifle  meeker  at 
present  than  they  had  been  on  the  King's 
Day.  But  it  was  chiefly  made  up  of  children; 
children  of  all  ages  and  all  sorts;  children  that 
were  nearly  as  big  as  the  King's  Son  himself, 
and  children  much  tinier  than  the  Broom- 
maker's  little  daughter. 


228 


Konigskinder 


The  Children  of  Hellabrunn  were  going  to 
call  on  their  Fiddler. 


TWO   OF  THE  HELLABRUNN   CHILDREN'S   MELODIES 


A  —  o      J  —  ^  ^      *  *  **-«:^. 

L     D    !»          .             Jl               K    ~4                IJ           '           "to             '        *     - 
F?tffi>  »*-''»-   1  —  •"=•  «—™  —  !•  m-~-*r-J=-= 

^J        'pt~     "      *        "  r"    "  "  * 

3 

|                ,             J^  

r  '         "^ 
-j   j   j 

CHAPTER  XVI 

WINTER   AT   THE    WITCH'S    HUT 


THE   TUNE   THE    FIDDLER   WAS    PLAYING 


ONCE  more  it  was  late  afternoon  in  the  clear- 
ing by  the  Hut.  But  now  the  sky  was  gray 
with  heavy  clouds,  and  the  snow  fell  fast.  The 
withered  boughs  sighed  faintly  in  the  wind ;  the 
air  was  cuttingly  cold.  Ice  and  snow,  sadness 
and  loneliness  were  everywhere.  The  Fiddler 
sat  in  the  dark  little  hovel  playing  softly  to 
himself.  Such  a  strange,  sobbing  melody  it 
was  that  he  played — as  weird  and  desolate  as 
the  north  wind  itself. 

I  cannot  say  how  long  he  would  have  gone 

on  drawing  the  lingering,  mournful  notes  from 
16 


230  Konigskinder 

the  strings  of  the  old  instrument  if  nothing  had 
interrupted  him.  But  he  heard  a  tiny  peck 
upon  the  broken  casement,  and  stopped  play- 
ing at  once.  He  knew  that  it  was  one  of  the 
Little  Gray  Doves  come  for  supper  a  trifle 
ahead  of  time. 

He  hastened  to  get  some  dried  seeds  which 
he  had  remembered  to  bring  home  the  last 
time  he  had  gone  to  the  Valley  for  provisions. 
Then  he  went  out  into  the  snow  to  feed  his 
small  bird  friends.  The  thickly  falling  f&kes 
clung  to  his  hair  and  beard,  but  the-  Fiddler 
was  used  to  rough  weather,  and  he  liked  the 
snow. 

To  be  sure,  his  gay  doublet  with  the  long 
sleeves  was  rather  old  and  thin  now,  and  one 
felt  the  cold  a  bit  up  on  the  mountains,  but  a 
man  could  not  have  everything  in  this  world! 
And  there  was  peace  here,  and  solitude,  and 
time  for  thoughts  and  dreaming.  So  the  Fid- 
dler found  no  quarrel  with  the  snowstorm,  but 
stood  in  it  stoutly,  scattering  seed  and  talking 
to  the  Little  Gray  Doves. 

They  loved  him — he  was  so  big  and  gentle — 


Winter   at  the  Witch's   Hut      231 

and  they  would  flutter  softly  about  him,  and 
light  on  his  shoulders  and  wrists,  and  coo  with 
plaintive  notes.  Sometimes  he  would  take  one 
in  his  hands  and  talk  bird-talk  to  it.  And  per- 
haps the  Doves  understood,  for  the  Fiddler 
was  said  to  know  some  of  the  speech  of  wild 
things. 

"Little  Gray  Doves,"  he  said,  "I  wish  that 
you  could  tell  me  how  to  find  my  poor  Royal 
•Children!" 

The  cold  winter  silence  had  been  broken  only 
by  the  stir  of  the  wind,  but  suddenly  he  heard 
the  distant  sound  of  voices — human  beings 
speaking  to  one  another. 

The  Fiddler  started  in  surprise,  and  the  Little 
Gray  Doves  fluttered  away.  They  were  afraid 
of  strange  Mortals. 

He  limped  to  the  edge  of  the  clearing  and 
gazed  into  the  depths  of  the  Forest.  At  last, 
among  the  bare,  twisted  tree-trunks,  he  saw 
a  man's  figure,  then  another.  At  once  he 
recognized  his  old  enemies  the  Wood-cutter 
and  the  Broom-maker,  and  at  first  he  was  very 
angry  with  them  for  daring  to  come.  They 


232  Konigskinder 

had  been  unkind  to  him,  and  he  wanted  to  be 
alone  and  at  peace.  Then  he  saw  a  little  girl 
clinging  to  the  hand  of  the  Broom-maker  and 
urging  him  to  go  faster.  She  was  his  dear  little 
fair-haired  friend  who  had  brought  him  food 
and  sympathy  when  he  was  locked  up  in  the 
dungeon.  And  he  was  so  pleased  to  think  of 
seeing  her  again  that  he  even  forgave  the  two 
men  for  coming  too. 

Still,  he  could  not  help  feeling  suspicious. 

"Now  I  wonder  what  they  want  of  me?"  he 
said  to  himself.  "It  is  certain  that  they  must 
want  something,  or  they  would  not  come  here 
at  all!" 

And  he  smiled  rather  grimly. 

The  visitors  were  now  near  enough  for  him 
to  hear  what  they  were  saying. 

"Here,  Broom-maker!"  the  Wood-cutter  was 
exclaiming.  "This  is  where  we  turn.  Dear, 
dear,  dear!  Has  this  demon-path  no  end?" 

"Scamp!"  muttered  the  Fiddler,  watching 
him  with  folded  arms. 

"Oh,  the  sharp  frost!  Oh,  the  stinging 
snow!"  whined  the  Broom-maker. 


Winter  at  the  Witch's   Hut      233 

"Silly  old  fraud!"  commented  the  Fiddler. 

Just  then  the  little  girl  caught  sight  of  him, 
and  gave  a  cry  of  joy.  She  dropped  her  father's 
hand  and  scampered  over  the  snow  like  a  wild 
rabbit,  to  be  caught  in  the  Fiddler's  big  arms. 

' ' Oh,  Fiddler !  Dear,  dear  Fiddler !"  she  cried. 
"We  are  coming  to  see  you!" 

"You — and  you  alone — are  welcome,"  he 
said,  tenderly,  holding  her  close.  "The  old 
Fiddler  will  never  forget  your  goodness  to  him 
during  those  dark  days  in  prison!  I  am  glad 
and  thankful  to  see  you  again.  But  how  about 
these  gentlemen?"  He  kept  the  child's  hand 
in  his,  and  surveyed  the  Wood-cutter  and 
Broom-maker.  They  looked  very  sheepish  and 
crestfallen,  and  the  Fiddler  smiled  with  some 
scorn. 

"Good  masters,"  he  said,  "I  hardly  know 
what  to  say  to  you.  You  see  I  have  learned 
not  to  trust  you." 

"But — but  you  were  set  free!"  protested  the 
Broom-maker,  blurting  the  words. 

"And  you  only  lost  the  use  of  one  leg !"  added 
the  Wood-cutter,  as  though  that  were  some- 


234  Konigskinder 

thing  about  which  the  Fiddler  should  feel  much 
pleased.  "At  least,  they  didn't  burn  you  up, 
like  the  Witch." 

"She  was  punished  for  her  lies!"  said  the 
Broom-maker,  with  solemn  satisfaction. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Fiddler,  quietly.  "When 
for  once  in  her  life  she  had  told  the  truth." 
Suddenly  he  turned  upon  them  with  a  frown; 
the  child  drew  her  hand  away  timidly,  he 
looked  so  stern. 

"Why  have  you  come  here?"  he  demanded. 
"What  do  you  want  of  me?  My  cupboard  is 
empty;  I  have  only  a  bier  of  winter  willow 
for  my  bed.  That  is  all  I  possess  on  earth. 
Yet  you  are  here !  What  do  you  expect  to  get  ?" 

He  faced  them  with  all  his  old  energy  and 
power,  but  his  frame  was  bowed  and  worn  now. 

"How  bent  you  are!"  said  the  Wood-cutter, 
almost  pityingly. 

The  Broom-maker,  too,  felt  sorry.  He  took 
a  timid  step  forward. 

"We  have  come  in  kindness,"  he  said. 

The  Wood-cutter  tried  to  be  encouraging  and 
comforting. 


Winter  at  the  Witch's  Hut      235 

"The  City  has  been  good  enough  to  forgive 
you!"  he  declared. 

The  Fiddler  laughed  shortly.  He  himself 
thought  that  it  was  his  part  to  forgive  the 
City. 

But  he  was  astonished  to  notice  that  the 
clearing  was  rapidly  filling  with  children- 
scores  and  scores  of  them,  bundled  up  in  hoods 
and  cloaks  and  mufflers,  powdered  with  snow 
and  with  eager,  rosy  faces — all  the  little  friends 
he  had  loved  of  old. 

"Oh,  Fiddler,  dear,"  said  the  Broom-maker's 
little  daughter,  lovingly,  "we  are  so  happy  to 
see  you  again,  all  of  us!  All  the  children  of 
Hellabrunn  have  prayed  for  you  every  single 
day." 

And  as  if  they  could  no  longer  keep  silence, 
all  the  others  gathered  round  him,  crying  im- 
ploringly : 

"Oh,  Fiddler!  Dear,  good,  darling  Fiddler! 
Please  come  back  to  us!  We  want  you  so 
much!  Come  back  to  us,  and  sing  to  us  again, 
and  tell  us  stories.  Be  Our  Fiddler  once  more!" 

"Yes,  do — do!"  pleaded  the  Broom-maker's 


236  Konigskinder 

Daughter.  "You  may  have  all  our  cinnamon 
pancakes  and  winter  apples  and  chestnuts — 
and  lots  of  kisses!  Fiddler,  dear,  we  beg  you 
with  all  our  hearts!" 

They  were  nearly  crying  with  eagerness,  and 
the  Fiddler  was  deeply  touched.  But  he  thought 
of  the  cruelty  of  Hellabrunn,  and  all  that 
he  had  suffered  there,  and  he  shook  his 
head. 

"It  is  hard  to  say  no — bitter  hard!"  he  said. 
"But  I  have  vowed  never  to  enter  Hellabrunn 
again,  and  I  shall  keep  my  word."  He  turned 
once  more  to  the  Wood-cutter  and  Broom- 
maker,  and  said,  bluntly  but  sorrowfully,  ' '  You 
know  well  enough  why  I  will  not  go  back — why 
I  will  not  eat  nor  drink,  sleep  nor  wake,  live  nor 
die  within  your  walls." 

His  tone  seemed  to  settle  the  matter,  but  the 
Broom-maker  plucked  up  courage  to  plead 
their  side  of  the  question. 

"Be  sensible,  Fiddler,"  he  besought.  "Come 
back!  We  have  all  regretted  that  fatal  King's 
Day,  and  we  have  been  in  dreadful  trouble,  one 
way  and  another,  ever  since.  And  as  for  the 


Winter    at  the  Witch's   Hut      237 

children — you  cannot  imagine  what  a  trial  they 
are  to  us!" 

He  glanced  around  to  see  that  they  could 
not  overhear  him.  They  were  chattering  in  un- 
dertones. 

Dropping  his  own  voice,  he  told  the  Fiddler 
about  the  Conspiracy  of  the  Children ;  how  they 
talked  secretly  together,  drew  away  from  their 
elders  coldly,  and  said  openly,  "Everything  is 
your  fault!" 

"And  they  are  growing  worse  all  the  time!" 
complained  the  Broom-maker,  wearily.  "We 
do  not  know  what  in  the  world  to  do  with 
them!" 

At  this  point  his  small  daughter  came  back 
to  the  Fiddler's  side,  and  pulled  his  sleeve  gently. 

"Dear  Fiddler — "  she  began,  in  a  soft  voice. 
Then  she  saw  that  her  father  was  listening. 

"Please  go  away!''  she  said  to  him,  with  a 
flash  of  temper. 

The  Fiddler  was  shocked  by  her  cross  tone, 
and  shook  his  head  disapprovingly;  but  he 
smiled  too.  I  am  afraid  that  the  Broom- 
maker's  Daughter  was  excessively  spoilt. 


238  Konigskinder 

"What  is  this  secret?"  he  asked,  indulgently. 

The  Broom-maker's  Daughter  was  deeply  in 
earnest. 

"You  see,  it  is  like  this,  dear  Fiddler,"  she 
explained.  "We  are  certain  sure  that  They 
were  the  King  and  Queen — you  know,  Fiddler 
dear — the  boy  and  girl  they  drove  away  that 
awful  day.  Well,  we  want  them  to  come  back! 
And  we  want  you  to  guide  us  and  help  us  to 
find  them,  because  we  should  lose  our  way  if 
we  tried  to  go  alone.  We  want  to  hunt  every- 
where until  we  find  out  where  they  are.  Fiddler, 
you  are  kind  and  good.  Please  help  us  to  bring 
the  Royal  Children  home!" 

And  all  the  others  repeated  wistfully,  "Yes, 
dear  Fiddler,  please  help  us  to  bring  the  Royal 
Children  home!" 

There  was  a  mist  before  the  good  Fiddler's 
eyes  as  he  saw  the  eager  faces  of  these  loving 
and  loyal  little  subjects. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  innocent  ones!"  he  exclaimed, 
tenderly.  "  If  I  had  not  been  so  lame  and  old 
I  should  have  gone  myself  long  ago  to  look  for 
the  brave  young  Prince  and  his  dear  little 


Winter    at   the  Witch's   Hut      239 

Lady.  But  now  —  see,  my  children!"  He 
pointed  to  the  white  woods  about  them.  "How 
could  we  see  their  footprints?  How  could  we 
find  their  hiding-place?  No;  we  must  wait 
until  spring  comes,  I  fear.  The  warm,  sweet 
air  will  melt  the  ice  and  blow  the  snow  away. 
Then  I  will  go  with  you  gladly,  and  we  will  hunt 
the  whole  world  over  until  we  can  kneel  before 
the  Royal  Children." 

The  little  girl  drooped  her  head  in  disap- 
pointment. 

"It  is  a  hundred  years  till  then!"  she  sighed. 

"To  me  it  seems  soon,"  said  the  Fiddler, 
gently.  For  he  was  old. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened  to  him.  The 
early  sunset  was  at  hand,  and  the  dull  sky  was 
growing  crimson.  As  he  looked  dreamily  into 
the  misty  depths  of  the  Enchanted  Forest  he 
distinctly  saw  a  great  Shadow  against  the 
evening  red — a  big,  dim  Shape,  that  nodded 
as  he  looked.  The  Fiddler  did  not  know  who 
it  was,  but  he  called  it  the  Spirit  of  the  For- 
est. 

"Are  you  waiting  for  them,  good  Neighbor?" 


240  Kb'nigskinder 

he  murmured  to  the  Shadow.  "I  think  you 
are!" 

The  Wood-cutter's  voice  broke  in  sharply: 

' '  Now  then,  what  does  the  fellow  decide  ?  Is 
he  coming  with  us  or  not?" 

The  Fiddler  drew  a  long  breath  and  changed 
his  mind. 

' '  Well— I  will  go !"  said  he,  suddenly.  ' '  But 
with  your  children — not  with  you!  So  far  as 
you  are  concerned,  I  was  done  with  you  all 
long  ago.  I  won't  go  into  your  City;  I  won't 
eat  at  your  tables,  nor  have  anything  to  do 
with  you.  I  don't  like  you.  But  I  like  your 
children;  they  and  I  will  go  on  a  searching- 
party.  You  can  go  back  to  Hellabrunn — or 
you  can  stay  here,  if  you  like,  and  pry  and  peer 
to  your  heart's  content.  There's  nothing  here 
that  you  can  harm — except  my  fiddle!  Don't 
you  dare  touch  that!" 

He  limped  vigorously  into  the  Hut,  tucked  the 
instrument  under  his  arm,  and  came  out  again. 
The  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker  were 
already  peeping  in  through  the  dark  doorway. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  into  my  festal  hall?" 


Winter    at  the  Witch's   Hut      241 

the  Fiddler  remarked  to  them,  cheerfully.  ' '  You 
are  welcome  to  what  the  rats  have  left !  Come, 
children,  our  way  lies  in  the  opposite  direction !" 

The  little  ones  flocked  about  him,  and  they 
left  the  clearing  together  to  begin  their  search 
for  the  King's  Son  and  the  Goose  Girl.  The  Fid- 
dler limped  very  fast,  as  though  the  affection  of 
the  children  and  the  new  hope  they  had  brought 
had  made  him  feel  young  and  strong  again. 

The  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker  were 
still  somewhat  afraid  of  the  Witch's  Hut.  They 
recalled  the  gruesome  tales  they  had  heard  of 
her  evil  deeds,  and  they  had  a  sneaking  belief 
that  her  ghost  might  be  lurking  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. But  they  were  devoured  with  curi- 
osity, and  besides  it  was  beginning  to  snow 
harder  than  ever,  and  they  longed  for  a  shelter. 
So  they  overcame  their  terrors,  entered,  and 
shut  the  rickety  door.  And  there  they  had  a 
beautiful  time  trying  to  find  the  treasure  which 
they  had  heard  the  Witch  had  kept  hidden  there. 

The  Cat  and  the  Raven  must  have  spirited  it 
away,  by-the-by,  for  no  Mortal  ever  found  a 
single  penny  of  all  the  Witch's  riches. 


242 


Konigskinder 


Once  more  the  clearing  was  empty.  The 
snow  was  whirling  into  drifts;  the  sky  was 
darkening.  In  the  windy  distance  the  Fiddler 
was  singing  a  song  to  the  little  Goose  Girl  who 
wore  a  Crown: 

"  Oh,  little  Queen  out  yonder, 
Lost  in  the  world  to-day, 
Where  do  you  wait  or  wander, 
Upon  your  true  love's  way? 

"  Since  your  dear  face  has  left  us 

The  earth  goes  sorrowing; 
The  field-flowers  have  bereft  us, 
The  wood-birds  do  not  sing. 

"  You  little  maid  so  sweet  and  fair, 
You  little  Queen  with  golden  hair, 

If  I  might  kneel  and  kiss  your  hand" — 

A  wild  gust  of  wind  blew  the  song  away. 
THE  FIDDLER'S  SONG 

i-^ff— (•-• m rAm-ft- 


'  Oh,      lit   -    tie  Queen     out      yon    -    der, 

I 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    ROYAL    BEGGARS 

Here  are  three  of  the  old  melodies  of  the  King's 
Son  and  the  Goose  Girl,  heard  once  more  on  their 
return  to  the  frozen  clearing.  They  are  changed, 
and  now  sound  as  desolate  as  the  winter  wind  itself. 


I  SUPPOSE  no  one  will  ever  know  the  true 
story  of  the  wanderings  of  the  King's  Son  and 
the  Goose  Girl.  In  all  the  months  that  they 


244  Konigskinder 

roamed  the  mountain  range  they  never  saw  a 
Mortal  creature.  They  had  a  wild  Kingdom 
all  their  own,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest  was 
their  only  companion. 

The  King's  Son  never  saw  the  Spirit.  Our 
Prince  was  a  healthy  lad,  more  interested  in 
real  life  than  in  shadows,  and  just  now  his  mind 
was  busy  with  taking  care  of  the  Goose  Girl 
and  getting  safely  across  the  Wonderful  Moun- 
tains. So  he  never  glanced  at  the  still,  dim 
Shape,  though  often  it  was  quite  close  to  him. 

But  the  Goose  Girl,  who  was  more  given  to 
dreams  than  he,  and  who  had  been  trained  to 
notice  magic,  knew  the  Spirit  very  well.  She 
was  a  little  afraid  of  it  in  her  heart,  but  the 
Shadow  sometimes  nodded  to  her  in  a  friendly 
way,  as  though  its  meaning  were  kind. 

Yes,  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest  was  kind  to 
them  for  a  time.  For  a  little  while  the  Royal 
Children  were  allowed  to  find  rest  after  the 
sufferings  they  had  met  at  human  hands. 
Stoned,  bruised,  hurt  in  heart  as  well  as  in 
body,  they  had  sought  refuge  in  the  green 
woodlands  on  the  Wonderful  Mountains.  Al- 


The  Royal   Beggars  245 

though  their  wish  was  to  cross  the  range  and 
enter  the  Contented  Kingdom,  where  a  Throne 
awaited  them,  they  were  obliged  to  travel 
slowly  and  plan  their  way  with  care. 

They  were  very  fortunate  at  the  outset.  They 
always  found  caverns  to  shelter  them,  and  the 
Forest  spread  carpets  of  flower-starred  moss 
before  them.  The  sun  was  gentle  to  them,  and 
the  night-dews  did  not  hurt  them.  The  King's 
Son  shot  game  from  time  to  time  with  his  bow 
and  arrows.  But  they  lived  chiefly  upon  the 
wild  fruits  and  savory  herbs  which  the  Goose 
Girl  gathered.  She  knew  a  great  deal  about 
roots  and  berries  and  all  growing  things;  she 
could  tell  what  to  avoid  and  what  to  seek. 
This  one  good  thing  she  owed  to  her  childhood 
with  the  Witch. 

Thus  they  kept  alive,  and  their  brave  young 
hearts  kept  them  hopeful  and  of  good  cheer. 
But  they  were  not  anxious  to  wander  forever 
in  the  woods.  Day  by  day  they  journeyed 
onward  and  tried  to  climb  the  mountain  range. 
But  they  never  met  with  success.  The  Forest, 

which  had  begun  by  making  everything  easy 
17 


246  Konigskinder 

for  them,  soon  seemed  to  check  and  thwart 
them.  The  weather  grew  chill,  and  they  found 
it  harder  and  harder  to  find  things  to  eat. 

We  cannot  know  whether  the  Spirit  of  the 
Forest  was  cruel  or  not.  It  seems  unkind  and 
needless  to  have  kept  the  poor  boy  and  girl 
away  from  their  Contented  Kingdom,  and  to 
have  made  them  suffer  cold  and  privation.  But 
Forests  are  strange  things,  especially  Enchanted 
Forests.  When  the  world  was  still  young, 
men  used  to  worship  the  spirits  of  the  great 
woods,  knowing  that  they  were  wise,  and  won- 
derful, and  strong.  So  perhaps  this  particular 
Forest  Spirit  had  a  reason  for  giving  such 
troubles  to  the  Royal  Children.  Possibly  they 
had  to  prove  themselves  royal  in  a  hundred 
hard,  small  ways  before  they  could  be  allowed 
to  really  reign  over  a  Kingdom. 

When  the  King's  Son  had  crossed  the  chain 
of  Wonderful  Mountains  in  the  summer  he  had 
been  alone  and  not  afraid  to  take  great  risks 
of  life  and  limb.  He  had  clambered  over  crags, 
waded  through  swollen  streams,  leaped  chasms, 
and  dashed  down  rocky  inclines  that  you  would 


The  Royal   Beggars  247 

grow  dizzy  just  to  see.  The  joy  of  his  new 
freedom  and  the  delight  of  his  own  hardy  body 
had  made  him  careless  and  daring.  So  he  had 
met  the  good  luck  which  reckless  persons  some- 
times do  find,  and  had  come  safely  through 
a  hundred  perils. 

But  things  were  quite  different  now  that  he 
had  a  girl  to  take  care  of.  The  Goose  Girl  was 
as  brave  as  a  little  maiden  could  be,  and  tried 
her  best  not  to  be  a  burden  nor  a  worry.  But  it 
was  impossible  for  the  King's  Son  to  travel  as  fast 
with  her  as  when  he  had  been  alone;  and  then, 
too,  he  did  not  dare  to  take  half  so  many  risks 
— on  her  account.  Though  he  had  never  been 
afraid  for  himself,  he  was  often  deeply  afraid 
for  her. 

They  tried  again  and  again  to  cross  the 
range,  but  there  was  always  some  barrier  in 
their  way.  Icy  cliffs  rose  before  them;  dread- 
ful ravines,  black  and  dangerous,  seemed  to 
open  at  their  feet;  and  the  increasing  cold 
and  the  hungry  wild  beasts  filled  the  King's 
Son  with  anxiety.  He  could  not  help  seeing 
that  the  Goose  Girl  was  growing  pale  and  thin, 


248  Konigskinder 

and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  should  never  be 
able  to  get  the  little  maid  safe  home  to  his  own 
comfortable  Kingdom. 

At  last  the  Goose  Girl  grew  ill  from  weakness 
and  bitter  weather.  She  was  faint  and  feverish, 
and  could  no  longer  walk.  So  the  King's  Son 
carried  her,  though  now  he,  too,  was  not  so 
strong  as  he  had  been.  And  around  them  the 
snow  fell  and  the  winds  blew,  and  the  branches 
bent  to  and  fro  against  a  sky  that  was  always 
overcast  nowadays. 

At  last,  one  day,  half  blinded  by  the  driving 
snow,  and  dizzy  with  weariness,  the  King's 
Son  reached  a  little  clear  spot  among  the  wil- 
derness of  trees. 

The  Goose  Girl  begged  him  weakly  not  to 
carry  her  any  longer,  and  he  put  her  down,  as- 
suring her  all  the  while  that  she  was  "not  a 
bit  too  heavy  "!  The  two  poor  wanderers  stood 
in  the  snow  and  wind  and  looked  wonderingly 
about  them. 

Slowly  they  realized  where  they  were.  In 
spite  of  the  harsh  changes  made  by  winter;  in 
spite  of  the  ice  in  the  stone  spring-basin,  and 


The   Royal   Beggars  249 

the  weight  of  snow  on  the  crooked  roof;  in 
spite  of  the  bare  boughs  of  the  linden-tree,  and 
the  lonely  and  desolate  look  of  the  place,  they 
could  see  that  they  had  found  their  way 
unknowing  to  the  clearing  by  the  Witch's 
Hut. 

"How  strange!"  murmured  the  Goose  Girl, 
looking  about  her.  "I  remember  it  all  so 
well!  See!  The  spring — and  the  linden -tree!" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  was  very 
tired,  and  even  the  sight  of  the  dismal  little 
clearing  touched  her  after  all  her  wanderings. 

"The  spring  is  frozen,  my  dear,"  said  the 
King's  Son,  gently.  "And  the  linden-tree  is 
bare.  Forgive  me  for  having  brought  you 
here.  ...  I  did  not  know." 

The  snow  was  whirling  about  them.  The 
Goose  Girl  drew  her  rough  cloak  about  her.  It 
was  coarse  and  old,  the  gift  of  a  generous 
farming- woman.  She  sat  down  on  the  icy 
edge  of  the  stone  basin  and  shivered. 

"I  will  see  if  any  one  lives  here  now,"  said 
the  King's  Son.  And  he  went  and  knocked 
on  the  little  door. 


250  Konigskinder 

"Open,  good  people!"  he  called.  "Whoever 
you  are,  we  beg  of  you  to  open!" 

It  was  on  this  same  afternoon,  you  know, 
that  the  Wood-cutter  and  Broom-maker  had 
gone  to  poke  about  the  Hut. 

The  Wood-cutter  opened  the  window  and 
looked  out  scowling. 

"Who  is  there?"  he  snapped.  "And  what 
is  your  business?" 

The  King's  Son  had  once  found  it  hard  to 
beg  for  bread  and  water,  but  that  was  for  him- 
self. Now  he  was  thinking  of  the  poor  Goose 
Girl,  whom  he  knew  needed  food.  And  he 
spoke  eagerly: 

"Good  masters,  I  must  ask  you  for  a  piece 
of  bread  and  a  cup  of  water  for  this  little  maid, 
who  is  ill  and  weary." 

The  Wood-cutter  frowned  more  crossly  than 
ever.  He  could  not  see  very  clearly  in  the 
growing  dimness  and  swirling  snow,  and,  of 
course,  he  did  not  recognize  the  King's  Son. 
His  hard  heart  was  not  at  all  moved  by 
the  thought  of  a  girl  starving  in  the 
storm. 


The   Royal   Beggars  251 

"This  isn't  an  inn!"  he  growled.  "Bread, 
forsooth!  What  nonsense!" 

And  he  slammed  the  window  shut  again. 

The  King's  Son  felt  his  head  swim  with  rage 
and  disappointment.  He  was  so  indignant  for 
the  Goose  Girl's  sake  that  it  seemed  as  though 
his  heart  would  break. 

"Ah,  dog!  Dog!"  he  cried,  hotly,  clenching 
his  hands. 

The  little  Goose  Girl  spoke  gently  from  the 
edge  of  the  frozen  spring. 

"We  are  beggars,"  she  reminded  him. 

The  King's  Son  dropped  his  hands,  and  his 
fury  gave  place  to  despair. 

She  found  an  old  dead  branch  blown  down 
by  the  wind,  and  swept  away  the  snow  under 
the  barren  linden-tree. 

' '  Come  and  sit  down , ' '  she  said .  ' '  The  trunk 
will  shelter  us  a  little  from  the  storm." 

The  King's  Son  dropped  down  in  the  snow 
beside  her. 

"We  should  be  traveling  on  soon,"  he  said, 
anxiously.  "We  must  keep  on  hunting  for 
the  path  that  leads  across  the  mountain." 


252  Konigskinder 

The  Goose  Girl  shook  her  head. 

"What's  the  use  in  this  snow?"  she  said. 

"I  can't  endure  it!"  groaned  the  King's  Son, 
desperately.  "I  can't  stand  seeing  you  half 
frozen  and  all  but  starved!  I  believe  that  you 
are  dying  before  my  eyes — and  there's  nothing 
I  can  do!  There's  nothing  I  can  do!" 

The  little  Goose  Girl  laughed  bravely,  brush- 
ing the  snow  out  of  her  eyes. 

"How  silly!"  she  said,  cheerfully.  "Look 
now,  and  listen!  I  am  going  to  show  you 
whether  or  not  I'm  half  dead." 

She  could  not  bear  to  see  him  grieve  for  her 
so  bitterly,  so  she  sprang  up  and  tossed  her  cloak 
aside  as  though  she  did  not  feel  the  cold  one  bit. 

She  racked  her  tired  little  brain  for  a  song 
to  sing.  Her  old  Spindle  Song  —  the  frag- 
ment that  she  used  to  hum — drifted  through 
her  mind : 

" .  .  .1  wish- 
That  I— 
Had  a  silver  spindle!"  .  .  . 

No;    she  could  not  remember  enough  of  that. 
But  her  head  seemed  suddenly  full  of  songs — 


THE   LITTLE   GOOSE   GIRL  LAUGHED   BRAVELY,   BRUSHING  THE   SNOW 
FROM    HER    EYES 


The  Royal   Beggars  253 

queer,  foolish  jingles,  with  plaintive  airs.  She 
could  not  think  where  she  had  heard  them  all, 
and  she  did  not  know  their  names. 

Swaying  from  weakness  and  fatigue,  the 
Goose  Girl  tripped  back  and  forth  in  the  snow, 
singing  in  her  clear  voice: 

"  From  a  far  distance  my  love  came  faring, 

Blithe  as  the  summer,  and  gay  as  the  wind. 
Doublet  and  smock  of  fine  silk  he  was  wearing; 
Linen  or  woolen  too  harsh  he  would  find!" 

She  walked  a  wee  bit  more  slowly;  her  feet 
dragged  in  the  snow.  Her  song  got  sadly 
mixed  up  in  her  dizzy  brain : 

"  Summer-snow — and   winter-May — 

Burned   him   with    frost,    and   froze   him   with 
flowers" — 

Her  lips  faltered  over  the  meaningless  words; 
but  she  sang  on: 

" — His  silken  doublet  was  wet  with  showers, 
And  my  silver  spindle — I  broke — to-day!" 

And  with  that  the  Goose  Girl  fainted  away 
in  a  miserable  little  heap  on  the  snow. 


254  Ko'nigskinder 

The  King's  Son  was  wild  with  fear.  He 
raised  her,  and  rubbed  her  hands,  and  begged 
her  to  speak  to  him.  And  at  last  she  opened 
her  eyes,  and  sat  up,  trying  to  smile. 

Suddenly,  quite  close  to  her,  she  saw  the 
Spirit  of  the  Forest.  And  this  time  she  could 
see  plainly  that  the  Spirit  was  smiling  at 
her. 

"You  follow  me  everywhere,"  she  murmured. 
"Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you?  Is  that 
what  you  are  waiting  for?  Ah,  but  I  will  not 
go!  I  will  not  leave  my  King!" 

And  again  she  smiled. 

The  Shadow  faded The  King's  Son  looked 

puzzled. 

"It's  odd,"  he  said;  "I  thought  I  saw  some- 
one standing  beside  you  just  then.  I  must  be 
going  crazy!  It  seemed  as  though  you  were 
talking  to  some  one." 

He  looked  down  for  a  moment  in  silence  at 
the  pale  little  maid  in  the  snow.  Then  he 
raised  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"First  I  would  not  rule!"  he  cried,  bitterly. 
"And  now  I  cannot  even  beg!  If  I  had  gold 


The  Royal  Beggars  255 

I  could  buy  you  food  and  shelter  and  all  you 
need.  But  I  cannot  earn  any  money  either. 
What  can  I  do?  What  can  I  do?  If  I  only 
had  gold— gold!" 

Then  his  face  lighted  up;  his  heart  swelled 
with  a  wonderful  idea;  new  hope  flashed 
through  him. 

"I  have!"  he  gasped.  "I  have  gold!  Why 
have  I  never  thought  of  it  before?" 

His  staff,  crossbow,  arrow-quiver,  and  bundle 
were  lying  in  the  snow.  Breathless  and  almost 
sobbing,  he  knelt  to  unfasten  the  little  bundle 
with  shaking  fingers.  During  their  wanderings 
he  and  the  Goose  Girl  had  always  carried  the 
Crown  tied  up  in  that  big  handkerchief.  It 
had  been  rather  in  the  way,  but  they  would 
not  leave  it  behind  anywhere. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  asked  the 
Goose  Girl,  anxiously. 

The  King's  Son  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  held 
up  the  big,  red -gold  circle,  and  the  bright- 
ness of  it  blazed  even  through  the  falling 
snow. 

"I  am  going  to  buy  you  some  bread!"  he 


256  Konigskinder 

cried,  triumphantly.     "And  I  am  going  to  pay 
for  it  with  this  Crown!" 


THE  SONG   THE    LITTLE   GOOSE  GIRL  SANG  IN  THE  SNOW 


—     r  i»^  r    — *- 


'From    a     far      distance,  my    love came  far- ing," 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    CROWN   AND   THE   CAKE 
WHEN  THEY   ATE  THE  MAGIC  CAKE 


3 

i 
I 


(You  see  the  music  is  the  same  as  the  spells  that 
were  said  when  it  was  mixed!) 

THE  Goose  Girl  gave  a  little  cry,  and  rose  to 
her  feet  trembling.  The  very  idea  horrified  her. 
To  drive  such  a  bargain — and  with  the  beauti- 
ful, precious  Crown — the  sign  of  their  royalty, 
the  sacred  trust  of  the  Kingdom!  It  was  not 
to  be  thought  of! 

"King,"  she  said,  warningly,  "do  not  sell 
your  Crown!" 

The  King's  Son  looked  at  her  grave  face,  and 
shook  his  head. 


258  Kbnigskinder 

"I  must,  dear!"  he  said.  "If  my  father  and 
mother  and  all  my  subjects  prayed  me  not 
to,  I  should  still  have  to  do  it,  to  buy  you 
bread." 

But  the  Goose  Girl  persisted,  stretching  out 
her  hands  pleadingly. 

"King,  do  not  sell  your  Crown!"  she  cried. 

The  King's  Son  looked  past  her  with  a 
puzzled  expression. 

"It's  odd!  I  saw  the  Shadow  again,"  he 
muttered.  Perhaps  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest 
also  was  trying  to  warn  him.  But  if  so  it  was 
in  vain.  The  boy  turned  resolutely  to  the  shut 
door  of  the  Hut. 

The  Goose  Girl  fell  on  her  knees  in  the  snow. 

"King!"  she  implored,  for  the  third  time. 
"Do  not  sell  your  Crown!" 

"I  am  nothing  but  a  beggar  now,"  said  the 
King's  Son,  and  he  looked  at  his  Crown.  "But 
perhaps  I  can  make  myself  a  King  for  one  final 
moment.  My  last  royal  act  is — to  break  my 
Crown  in  pieces!" 

And  he  brought  the  delicate,  rich  circle 
crashing  down  upon  his  knee.  If  fell  in  two 


MY    LAST   ROYAL   ACT   IS TO    BREAK   MY   CROWN   IN    PIECES!" 


The   Crown   and   the   Cake       259 

pieces — useful  as  gold,  perchance,  but  no 
longer  a  Crown. 

The  Goose  Girl  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  In  that  moment  the  Kingdom  seemed 
to  her  very,  very  far  away.  And  who  could 
tell  what  strange  or  sad  things  might  happen 
after  such  a  mad  deed  as  this? 

The  King's  Son  strode  with  eager  steps  to 
the  Hut,  and  knocked  briskly  upon  the  door. 

Again  the  Wood-cutter  looked  out  of  the 
window — in  a  very  bad  temper  this  time. 

"Are  you  trying  to  break  down  the  door?" 
he  demanded,  harshly. 

"I  have  a  good  bargain  for  you,  friend!" 
said  the  King's  Son,  in  a  queer,  breathless  way. 
He  was  smiling,  but  he  was  very  pale. 

"Here  is  a  bit  of  gold!"  He  held  out  one 
gleaming  half -circle.  "I  offer  it  to  you  freely 
for  some  food  and  a  place  to  sleep." 

"Gold?  Let's  have  a  look  at  it!"  said  the 
surly  Wood-cutter,  with  a  shade  more  interest. 
"Hey,  Broom-maker!  Come  here  a  moment!" 

The  Broom-maker  was  still  poking  about  in- 
side the  cottage,  and  grumbling  to  himself. 


260  Konigskinder 

"It  is  enough  to  make  an  honest  man  swear!" 
he  muttered,  peevishly.  "Here  I  have  been 
wasting  all  this  time  hunting  for  something 
valuable,  and  all  I  have  been  able  to  find  here 
is  an  old  cake  hidden  awav  on  a  shelf  under 
the  eaves!" 

And  he  grunted  with  disgust. 

"Look  at  this!"  said  the  Wood-cutter. 

"Aha!  Gold,  eh?"  said  the  Broom-maker. 
And  they  examined  the  broken  Crown. 

"He — this  beggar-fellow  here — wants  shelter 
and  food  in  exchange  for  it,"  explained  the 
Wood-cutter,  squinting  at  the  brilliant  metal, 
as  though  it  dazzled  his  eyes. 

"You  can't  get  shelter  here,  my  lad!"  de- 
clared the  Broom-maker,  shaking  his  head. 
But  he  glanced  greedily  at  the  gold. 

"Then  give  me  some  bread!"  said  the  King's 
Son,  who  was  reckless  by  this  time.  "The — 
the  little  maid  is  hungry!"  he  added,  des- 
perately. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  Wood-cutter,  grudg- 
ingly. "But  this  one  piece  of  gold  is  not 
enough.  Here!"  He  seized  the  old  cake  just 


The  Crown  and  the  Cake       261 

found  by  the  Broom-maker.  "Here  is  a  beau- 
tiful little  loaf  for  you!  But  we  must  have 
both  those  pieces  of  gold,  whatever  they  are. 
Worth  nothing,  probably." 

"Take  them!  Take  it  all!"  exclaimed  the 
King's  Son,  pressing  the  two  bright  halves  into 
the  man's  hands.  "Only  give  me  the  loaf!" 

They  handed  him  the  little  cake,  and  hastily 
shut  the  window,  well  pleased  with  their  bar- 
gain, though  too  ignorant  to  know  the  true 
value  of  the  broken  Crown. 

The  King's  Son  dashed  across  the  clearing 
to  where  the  Goose  Girl  was  sitting.  She  was 
huddled  against  the  trunk  of  the  linden-tree 
once  more,  trying  to  keep  warm. 

"Here  is  bread — or  cake — or  something!"  he 
cried,  hardly  able  to  speak  for  joy.  "Food, 
dearest  little  girl — food!  Oh,  take  it  and  eat 
it,  dear — eat  it  at  once!" 

The  little  Goose  Girl  smiled  at  him,  but  her 
eyes  were  wet. 

"Not  by  myself!"  she  said,  softly.  "You, 
too!" 

"Oh,  well  then!"  said  the  King's  Son,  im- 

18 


262  Konigskinder 

patiently  but  tenderly.  "Give  me  a  piece  of 
the  crust  if  it  makes  you  any  happier." 

The  Goose  Girl  took  the  little  loaf  and  broke 
it  in  two.  Bread  or  cake,  it  was  wonderfully 
fresh  and  good,  as  though  it  had  been  newly 
baked. 

And  yet  it  had  been  lying  on  the  shelf  in  the 
Witch's  Hut  for  months  and  months.  .  .  .  Can 
you  guess  what  it  was  ? 

It  was  the  Magic  Cake  which  the  Goose  Girl 
had  helped  the  Witch  to  mix  that  baking-day 
in  the  long-ago  summer. 

Do  you  remember  the  two  spells  which  they  had 
repeated  over  the  dough?  The  Witch  had  de- 
clared that  it  would  never  grow  hard  nor  stale; 
and  that  they  who  ate  of  it  would  sleep  forever. 
And  the  Goose  Girl  had  said: 

"  Who  eats  this  Cake  shall  see  his  love  so  true! 
Who  eats  this  Cake  shall  have  his  dream  come  true!" 

Now  which  of  those  two  spells  do  you  suppose 
was  the  stronger?  Perhaps  both  of  them  were 
powerful  to  work  in  different  ways.  Both  of 
them  were  Magic,  you  see;  and  this  was  an 
Enchanted  Forest! 


The  Crown  and  the  Cake   263 

The  King's  Son  and  the  Goose  Girl  sat  in  the 
drifting  snow  under  the  linden-tree,  and  ate  the 
Magic  Cake.  And  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest  drew 
nearer  and  nearer.  They  could  not  have  helped 
seeing  it  if  they  had  turned  their  heads,  for  it 
stood  just  behind  them,  smiling  down  upon 
them  as  though  it  knew  that  they  were  going 
to  be  very  happy  at  last. 

And  now  happened  the  most  wonderful  thing 
that  you  could  possibly  imagine.  As  they  ate 
the  Magic  Cake  the  King's  Son  and  the  Goose 
Girl  saw  suddenly  that  the  Enchanted  Forest 
had  grown  green  again! 

To  the  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker  it 
was  still  winter  and  winter  weather,  and  I  think 
that  it  would  have  been  so  to  you,  or  to 
me ;  but  to  the  Royal  Children  it  was  sum- 
mer. 

They  felt  dreamy  and  strange,  unlike  them- 
selves, but  quite  gay  and  well  now.  They 
jested  together  as  they  ate  the  Magic  Cake, 
and  quarreled  merrily  over  who  should  be 
forced  to  eat  the  biggest  share.  And  they 
smiled,  forgettjng  that  they  were  still  beggars, 


264  Kdnigskinder 

and  no  longer  feeling  the  snow  that  fell  heavily 
upon  them. 

They  had  lost  count  of  time,  and  found  their 
memories  much  confused.  They  spoke  of  past 
happenings,  and  could  not  say  if  it  had  been 
last  year  or  yesterday.  But  they  felt  glad,  and 
safe,  and  beautifully  warm. 

The  woodland  was  green  and  fragrant  again, 
and  the  wind  was  the  south  breeze  of  mid- 
summer, light  and  warm,  and  sweet  with  a 
million  flowers.  And  the  linden  was  once  more 
in  bloom.  The  falling  snowflakes  became  to 
their  dazzled  eyes  a  misty  veil  of  silver,  such 
as  one  sees  at  dawn.  .  .  .  No!  Now  it  was  a 
cloud  of  white  petals  blown  from  flowering 
shrubs!  And  there  were  sunbeams  all  of  rosy 
gold,  and  the  musical  murmur  of  the  swiftly 
running  spring.  .  .  . 

The  Goose  Girl  seemed  to  hear  again  the 
cackling  of  her  Geese.  They  had  all  been  lost 
in  the  Fairy  Wood  long  since,  but  she  fancied 
that  she  could  see  them  waddling  about  and 
nibbling  at  the  growing  things  they  found. 

"You  have  frightened  my  flock!"  she  laughed 


The  Crown  and  the   Cake       265 

to  the  King's  Son.  "You  came  so  suddenly 
over  the  edge  of  the  hill  there.  .  .  .  You  fright- 
ened me,  too!" 

The  snow  was  falling  more  and  more  thickly, 
and  the  north  wind  was  cruelly  keen.  But  to 
the  Royal  Children  the  world  was  still  bright 
and  beautiful.  For  they  had  eaten  of  the 
Magic  Cake,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest  stood 
beside  them. 

Then  to  the  King's  Son  the  Spirit  gave  a 
sudden  and  thrilling  vision. 

The  gleaming,  silvery  mist  before  him  opened 
like  parting  clouds,  and  directly  ahead  he  could 
see  the  great  steps  of  the  Royal  Palace  in  the 
Contented  Kingdom.  The  castle  doors  were 
open,  and  there  were  banks  of  flowers  and 
lengths  and  lengths  of  green  garlands  in  honor 
of  their  home-coming.  His  dogs  were  bound- 
ing to  meet  him,  and  hundreds  of  knights  and 
men-at-arms  in  glittering  armor  stood  ranged 
on  either  side.  They  waved  bright  banners, 
and  struck  their  shields  with  their  big  swords 
till  the  air  rang  and  rang  again  with  the  fine 
clash  of  steel.  And,  one  and  all,  they  shouted: 


266  Konigskinder 

"Long  live  the  King!  Long  live  our  King  and 
Queen!" 

Then,  in  his  dream — the  Magic  Dream — the 
King's  Son  took  the  Goose  Girl's  hand  in  his, 
and  led  her  up  those  splendid,  shining  steps.  .  .  . 

' '  Listen !"  he  cried .  "  Can  you  not  hear  them 
shout?  How  they  cry  out  to  welcome  you, 
dear  girl!  And  how  proud  they  are  all  going 
to  be  of  you!  Come,  little  Queen!  Enter  into 
your  Kingdom!" 

The  vision  faded. 

All  this  time  the  snow  fell  and  the  wind 
howled,  but  they  did  not  know.  They  were 
dreaming  the  Magic  Dream. 

"I  am  so  warm — and  sleepy — and  happy!" 
whispered  the  Goose  Girl,  drowsily.  "I  simply 
can't  keep  awake!" 

"I  feel  so,  too,"  said  the  King's  Son,  with 
nodding  head.  "I — I  think  I  am  dizzy —  It 
is  strange — " 

"I — I'm  falling  asleep!"  faltered  the  Goose 
Girl,  sinking  back  into  the  soft,  cold  snow. 

"We'll  soon  wake  up  again,"  murmured  the 
King's  Son,  his  eyes  closing.  "And  then — 


The  Crown  and  the   Cake       267 

we'll  start  for — home!  .  .  .  And  we'll  pick 
roses — " 

And  he  fell  sound  asleep. 

The  Goose  Girl  was  just  drifting  off  when 
she  saw  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest  bending  over 
her. 

"The  Spirit!"  she  breathed.  ''Don't  take 
me  from  him — ever!" 

And  she  closed  her  eyes. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Forest  mounted  guard  over 
them,  and  they  slept  in  the  snow. 

SOME  OF  THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  SHADOW  THAT  WATCHED 
OVER  THE  ROYAL  CHILDREN 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  FIDDLER'S  LAST  SONG 

There  were  many  melodies  in  the  Fiddler's  last  song, 
some  new  and  some  very  old.  Here  are  three  of 
them;  two  you  will  recognize: 

jMy- m (- _  ,*. ..  P 

|5E 


-4^: 


THE  snow  fell  and  fell,  and  all  the  clearing 
was  white  and  beautiful.  There  was  no  sign 
of  the  Royal  Children.  There  was  a  great  drift 
under  the  linden -tree,  that  was  all.  And  safe 
in  the  heart  of  it  they  slept,  wrapped  in  their 
Magic  Dream. 


The  Fiddler's  Last  Song         269 

After  a  time  the  storm  ceased.  The  leaden 
clouds  stole  softly  out  of  the  sky,  and  in  the 
clearing  west  was  the  last  of  the  sunset  red. 
The  snowbanks  and  the  ice-covered  boughs  were 
faintly  rosy,  and  the  long  shadows  lay  motionless 
on  the  stretch  of  white.  The  wind,  too,  had  died 
down.  The  Wood  was  quiet  and  lovely  now. 

The  Fiddler  and  the  children  came  into  the 
clearing.  They  were  tired,  but  not  discouraged. 
They  had  walked  far  through  the  woods,  and 
called  again  and  again,  but  of  course  they  had 
met  with  no  success.  The  little  folk  were  dis- 
appointed not  to  have  found  at  least  a  trace 
of  the  Royal  Children,  but  the  Fiddler  told 
them  to  be  of  good  cheer.  The  wind  had 
changed;  the  weather  was  clearing.  To-mor- 
row they  would  search  again,  and  the  next  day, 
and  the  next! 

The  door  of  the  Hut  opened,  and  out  came 
the  Wood-cutter  and  the  Broom-maker.  They 
carried  the  broken  Crown. 

' ' See,  Fiddler !"  cried  the  Wood-cutter.  ' ' This 
has  just  been  given  to  us.  What  do  you  make 
of  it?" 


2jo  Konigskinder 

"A  beggar-boy  had  it,"  explained  the  Broom- 
maker.  "Perhaps  you  met  him.  He  was 
here  a  short  time  ago  asking  for  food." 

The  Fiddler,  a  trifle  puzzled,  took  the  broken 
circle  in  his  hands.  He  fitted  the  gleaming 
pieces  together,  and  stood  staring  down  at 
what  he  held.  Then  he  gave  a  cry: 

"The  Crown!" 

He  knew  now  that  the  Royal  Children  were 
somewhere  near. 

"A  beggar-boy,  you  say?  A  beggar-boy!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Which  way  did  he  go? 
Quick!" 

"Here,  now!"  growled  the  Wood-cutter,  sus- 
piciously. "Give  us  back  our  property  first! 
We  got  that  gold  thing  fairly  in  exchange  for 
a  loaf  of  bread. 

The  Fiddler's  great,  warm  heart  nearly  broke 
when  he  heard  that. 

"He  gave  this  for  a  crust  of  bread!"  he 
groaned.  "He  sold  the  Crown  for  food!" 

He  limped  to  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  and 
cried  into  the  silent  woods: 

"Royal  Children!     Where  are  you?     Where 


The  Fiddler's  Last  Song         271 

shall  we  look  for  you  ?  Royal  Children !  Royal 
Children!  Royal  Children!" 

There  was  silence. 

But  one  of  the  Little  Gray  Doves  fluttered 
across  the  hushed  white  clearing. 

"Look,  Fiddler!"  exclaimed  the  Broom- 
maker's  Daughter.  "Look  at  the  Dove!" 

The  tiny  bird  was  circling  about  the  linden- 
tree,  as  though  with  some  purpose  of  its  own. 

"Little  Gray  Dove,"  said  the  Fiddler,  "do 
you  know  where  they  are?" 

The  Dove  fluttered  lower.  I  think  it  was 
answering  him. 

Then  the  Fiddler  saw  a  Shadow  standing 
motionless  beneath  the  snow- weighted  linden, 
and  his  heart  beat  faster.  He  knew  that  it 
was  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest.  But  no  one  else 
could  see  it  at  all. 

Very  quietly  the  Fiddler  knelt  and  brushed 
away  the  snow  with  a  gentle  hand. 

It  was  as  he  thought.  There  lay  the  Royal 
Children  asleep  and  smiling. 

The  Broom-maker's  Daughter  and  the  others 
began  to  cry.  But  the  Fiddler  did  not  even 


272  Konigskinder 

want  to  cry.  He  knew  that  the  Spirit  of  the 
Forest  was  taking  care  of  the  King's  Son  and  the 
Goose  Girl,  and  that  they  were  quite  safe  now. 

"You  dear  children,"  he  said,  tenderly,  to  the 
sobbing  little  ones,  "we  have  both  found  and 
lost  them,  you  see.  You  may  cry  if  you  like 
for  yourselves,  but  not  for  them.  The  older 
folk  did  not  understand,  and  they  were  cruel 
to  them  and  drove  them  away.  But  you  fol- 
lowed them  with  hearts  full  of  love.  You  shall 
give  them  royal  honors  at  last." 

The  Royal  Children  had  passed  out  of  Mortal 
keeping  forever.  They  were  in  a  Magic  Dream, 
and  whether  they  would  wake  from  it  or  not, 
and  what  would  come  to  them  if  they  did — 
these  were  things  which  no  human  being,  not 
even  the  wise  Fiddler,  could  tell.  So  he  bade 
the  Hellabrunn  children  carry  the  sleeping  boy 
and  girl  up  to  the  very  highest  crag  that  they 
could  climb.  There,  on  a  real  mountain 
Throne,  they  must  leave  them.  The  rest  was 
with  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest. 

Then  the  Fiddler  spoke  in  a  new  way — a 
way  that  was  strange  and  solemn  and  very 


The  Fiddler's  Last  Song         273 

beautiful.  They  listened  as  though  he  were 
an  angel — this  gray,  bowed  man  with  the  bat- 
tered riddle  strapped  upon  his  shoulder.  For 
his  long  life,  and  the  many  wonderful  dreams 
that  he  had  put  into  songs,  had  made  him 
nobler  and  tenderer  than  other  men.  And 
this,  his  latest  and  deepest  grief,  had  made  him 
very,  very  wise — wiser  than  Mortals  are  usually 
allowed  to  be. 

"I  am  old  now,"  he  finally  said.  "Too  old 
to  play  or  sing  any  more,  and  far  too  sad.  I 
shall  break  my  beloved  fiddle  in  two  and  lay  it 
at  the  feet  of  the  Royal  Children  as  my  humble 
offering.  And  no  one  will  ever  hear  the  Fid- 
dler make  music  again.  But  you,  my  children 
— my  little  friends — shall  be  my  instrument! 
You  shall  be  like  the  different  strings  of  a  big 
violin,  that  will  still  echo  sweetly  the  songs 
that  I  have  sung.  You  will  remember  what  I 
have  played  to  you;  and  you  will  remember 
the  tales  I  have  told  you,  and  the  things  I  have 
tried  to  teach  you.  And  above  all  you  will  re- 
member the  Royal  Children.  You  must  never 
all  your  lives  forget  the  King's  Son  and  the 


274  Konigskinder 

Goose  Girl,  even  if  you  never  see  them  nor 
hear  of  them  again.  They  have  been  tried  and 
proved,  and  are  truly  a  King  and  Queen.  Be 
like  them,  if  you  can." 

Then  they  carried  the  King's  Son  and  the 
Goose  Girl  up  to  a  high,  high  place,  where  the 
winds  blew,  and  the  wild  birds  flew  and  called. 
And  they  laid  the  broken  Crown  between  them, 
and  the  King's  Sword  at  their  feet.  And  then 
the  Fiddler  sang  his  Last  Song. 

The  Fiddler's  Last  Song  was  very  strange. 
It  was  all  about  love,  and  courage,  and  hope — 
and  yet  it  was  not  merry.  It  was  about  fare- 
wells, and  pain,  and  dreams,  and  memory — 
yet  it  was  not  sad.  His  listeners  did  not  un- 
derstand it,  yet  they  knew  that  never  while 
they  lived  could  they  forget  it.  And  the  ending 
of  it,  as  the  Fiddler  sang  it  in  his  great  voice, 
was  as  solemn  as  the  bells  of  noon  on  the 
King's  Day: 

"Heaven  and  earth  shall  sing  the  story; 
Those  who  sleep  shall  awake  in  glory! 
And   your   hearts   shall  crown  them  —  the   Royal 
Children!" 


The  Fiddler's  Last  Song         275 

So  the  Fiddler  sang  his  Last  Song  and  broke 
his  fiddle.  And  they  all  came  away  and  left 
them  on  the  mountain. 

Now,  stories  must  have  an  end  when  we  do 
not  know  what  happened  next.  We  may 
make  up  endings  for  ourselves;  we  may  fancy 
that  the  Royal  Children  were  borne  to  the 
Contented  Kingdom  by  good  fairies,  and 
reigned  there  in  peace  and  joy.  Or  we  may 
guess  that  they  lived  forever  and  a  day  in  the 
Enchanted  Wood,  watched  over  by  the  Spirit 
of  the  Forest.  Or  we  may  merely  imagine  that 
they  slept  for  a  hundred  years  or  so  in  the 
Magic  Dream;  or —  But  it  does  not  matter 
after  all!  We  know  that  they  were  together, 
and  that  they  were  happy,  for  the  Fiddler  has 
said  so.  And  we  know  that  they  had  the  Crown 
and  the  Sword,  and  that  the  children  of  Hella- 
brunn  had  knelt  and  called  them  King  andQueen. 

For  a  long  time  their  loyal  little  friends  would 
not  give  up  the  hope  that  one  day  the  King's 
Son  and  the  Goose  Girl  would  come  back  to 
them.  They  called  and  called  through  the 
woods,  but  there  was  never  any  answer. 


276  Kdnigskinder 

"Royal  Children!"  they  would  cry,  in  their 
fresh,  young  human  tones. 

And  from  the  unknown,  shadowy  depths 
where  the  Spirit  of  the  Forest  dwelt  they 
would  hear  the  faint,  mysterious  echoes,  like 
the  voices  of  ghosts: 

"Royal  Children.  .  .  .  Royal  Children!" 

But  that  was  all. 

And  so  that  is  the  end  of  the  story. 

WHAT   THE   CHILDREN   CALLED   HOURLY   THROUGH   THE 
WOODS 


yrr    -*= 

"Roy   -    al     Chil-dren!       Roy    -    al     Chil-dren!" 

JUu-  J      —  rn 

t    '        r    >t 

THE    END 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


TueNov  11  10:52:44  1997 
Date:  Tue,llNov  97  09-09-21 


Name: 


Note: 
SCHNEIDER /u 

8. 
Author: 


Title: 


Aima  ^ 


rdinck 
Told  for 
om 


-1920 


•" 
ChaPjn  - 
in  u,e  opera 


